The Disney Games
by Tor Raptor
Summary: In the Empire of Walt Disney II, the first annual Disney Games are rapidly approaching. A fight to the death between one member of each of the 12 sectors, it's an event nobody is looking forward to. Tensions flare, romances bloom, and rivalries emerge as the competitors face off in the arena, but in the end, there can be only one winner. (crossover between 12 Disney shows)
1. Prologue

**Well, this is officially my first crossover story, and I'm really excited for it. Just a heads-up, this story involves characters from more shows than listed: Lab Rats, Austin & Ally, A.N.T. Farm, Dog with a Blog, JESSIE, Girl Meets World, Good Luck Charlie, KC Undercover, Phineas & Ferb (yes, I'm serious), Liv & Maddie, I Didn't Do It, and Kickin' It. I apologize for not putting this in the crossover section, because it has so many shows, I couldn't really put it in a category with just 2 options. I just chose a random category from the above listed to place this story in (the category it's under isn't necessarily the main category, I just thought a plot like this would appeal to Lab Rats fans over any of the other categories) I don't own any of those shows listed, or the Hunger Games. I didn't use every single detail of that plot, there are plenty of changes, but it's probably right to disclaim that. Rated T for character death and general violence. Anyway, enough from me, let's get on with it!**

Prologue:

Fear. Dread. Angst. Worry. Foreboding. Despair. All are quite commonplace among the people of the Empire of Walt Disney II. What used to be an amazing place founded on fun and magic is now a corrupt empire in which the citizens are oppressed and intimidated into obeying. Most of this intimidation comes from the imminent Disney Games: a fight to the death between one randomly-chosen member of each sector of the empire.

The idea of it seems so horrible to me, I can't even entertain the thought that this will occur in a matter of weeks. I often wonder what horrid events could have turned Emperor Disney into such an evil, bloodthirsty person, as his father would certainly pale at the thought of pitting humans against each other. The first Walt Disney created the vast empire in hopes of making people happy, not scaring them into his control, yet here we were, already feeling sorry for the people to be randomly chosen to compete.

The whole prospect of the competition seemed extremely unfair, as I've heard rumors that some other sectors are home to prodigies, people of extreme intelligence, those that are combat-trained, or even bionic humans. Supposedly, those less able would receive 'benefits' from empire headquarters to help even things out, but still, a couple of fancy gadgets can't really put you on the same level as a bionic person.

Every day that passes brings us closer to the Games, and closer to the time we'll lose eleven members of the empire, which, according the propaganda we're being constantly bombarded with, is supposed to be a time of rejoicing in happiness. The day of the lottery, Emperor Disney's term for the choosing of the contestants, is supposed to be a huge celebration, but everybody just meanders around town somberly with their heads down, afraid to even look up out of fear it would somehow affect the drawing.

I can't decide which would be worse; being forced to kill innocent people, or being forced to watch someone close to me kill innocent people, or die. Even children aren't safe from the horrors of the lottery, as age has no bearing on the names put into the box for the drawing. I could be 6 years old, or 96, and still have an equal shot as a peak-condition 26-year-old. I just hope that the Games will be over soon after the begin, minimizing the time I have to look on in horror as guiltless people murder each other. If one of the twelve competitors ends up being bionic or something, he or she will obviously have the upper hand, and hopefully will ignore their scruples and quickly dispatch of all the others to spare the rest of us the misery. I would certainly put my money on a bionic person in this contest.

That's what makes this whole ordeal even worse: those of us who aren't chosen have to place bets on the competitors. The sector that most accurately predicts the winner will be exempt from next year's Games. Although, hopefully, Disney will come to his senses and there won't be a next year. Everyone in the empire wants to rebel against Disney, but we're simply too oppressed to do anything drastic. His goons patrol every nook and cranny of every sector in the entire empire. I can't even go to the store for bread without being tailed by government personnel making sure I'm not 'instilling rebellious thoughts in the minds of other citizens'.

As of today, August 1st 2016, the lottery is exactly three days away, and I can feel the tension in the air, so thick I almost choke. Everyone will be in attendance of the lottery, Disney will make sure of it, as he views it as a holiday. Those whose names are actually going into the box make up only about 6% of the population. Disney insists the only the most well-known members of each sector will provide sacrifice enough, everyone else will just watch on in helplessness as one of their leaders either dies, or kills others for no reason except to save his or her own hide.

Each day that brings us closer to the lottery, more and more Disney goons materialize in the town square. I presume that Disney expects the time when members of the population are being summoned like pigs to the slaughterhouse to be peak rebellion season, and he's laying on the uprising control. I doubt we'd be able to organize an uprising on such short-notice anyway, most of us are just normal, terrified people. Everyone looks up to the superiors: 4-7 people in the sector who carry out all the important business. I'm one of the superiors of my sector, so the people look to me for comfort during these tense times. Back when Disney wasn't a corrupt dictatorship, these people were the faces of the sectors, which used to be independent colonies of Disney, each with their own anthem and flag. Now every building in every sector bears the mouse-head-shaped symbol of Disney, with the old colony symbols only used by Disney to mark objects that belong to specific sectors. What used to be a symbol of entertainment and magic now stirs up fear in all that lay eyes on it.

As the clock strikes 11:03, the drawing at the lottery is exactly 72 hours away, and all citizens are required to stay inside their homes while the Disney goons prepare the town square for the 'big event'. I hurry home before I can get caught and questioned of my motives for being out two minutes after curfew. I don't see how it can take three days to set up a little lottery, but most of us view these three days as Disney's way of letting families be together without distractions in the event that one of them will leave on lottery day, never to return. It's nice to think that our corrupt and evil leader is giving us time to say goodbye, even if that's not really the case. Whatever it takes to help me sleep at night, be it true, or just wishful thinking. One thing's for certain, my family and I are going to treasure these last three days, because it may be the last three days we all spend together.

May the odds be ever in our favor.

 **Well, what did you think? (That last line is a reference to the Hunger Games. You don't need to have read the book to understand this story, but I thought I'd throw that in there for Hunger Games fans that may be reading this.) Just a forewarning, some of the characters that come into this story may be quite OOC, but this is a post-apocalyptic Disney, so I'd like to think that that may have changed some of their personalities at least a little bit. I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review, as this story is really a leap of faith for me. I'll try to update next week, but I'll see how far I get on chapter 2 before I post chapter 1. Until next chapter: The Lottery, bye!**


	2. The Lottery

**Well, here it is: Chapter 1. I was honestly shocked at the 5 people that followed this story after just one chapter. Come on guys, it can't be _that_ appealing. Can it? Anyway, this is the first story where I'll be doing official review replies, so here goes.**

 **RandomWaffle5505: Gee, thanks. I kinda got the idea from reading Disney High by TKDP, but thought: What if the meeting of the characters was a little less... peaceful. It all escalated from there. And the narrator of the story is supposed to be unknown, that was intentional. You can probably figure out who it is by the end of the story.**

 **daphrose: I'm glad you like it so much. That's quite a feat for me, to impress a fanfiction author as successful as you to that extent. You'll find out who's in the running for the death toll within the next two chapters, but I won't say any more on the matter than that. Thanks again!**

 **Okay, I suck at thanking people and generally responding to what people say to be, I'm not sure how evident that was. Anyway, my lack of social skills is a topic for another time, I'll just quit stalling and get on with the chapter.**

Chapter 1: The Lottery

They were already over. Those treasured three days of nothing but enjoying each other's presence were already over. They say time flies when you're having fun, but it _really_ flies when you know that it may be the last time you ever see your loved ones again. Today was the day one of us would be sent away to die, or become a ruthless killer themselves. I visibly shuddered as I thought about saying goodbye.

"You scared?" my father asked concernedly.

"Very," I replied. I could see the paternal worry painted all over his face, and could only imagine the horror a father faced at the idea that his own child could be sent away to death. I sighed as I imagined the grief I would cause him and Mom if I were chosen.

"It'll all be okay," he assured, embracing me in the type of hug only a father could give. I could tell by the way he hesitated to let go that he feared he was letting go of me forever by releasing me from his grasp. If I were a parent, I knew I'd feel the same way. Yet we both knew that it wasn't all going to be okay. No matter what, someone we loved was going into a fight for their life, and probably wouldn't make it out on the other side.

"You and I both know that's not true," I whispered in his ear. While I hated to be a downer, there was no denying that all of our lives would change forever after this day.

"Hurry up, we'll be late," my mother said. She was right, as some of the only ones with our names in the lottery box, if we were late, there were sure to be repercussions. Dad finally released me and we all hurried out the door and joined the masses of people headed toward the town square. Nobody said a word on the walk, the mood far too depressing for conversation. As we walked toward certain doom, I looked around at the world that had been my home for as long as I could remember. I could feel tears glistening in my eyes as I realized this might be the last time I ever laid eyes on my home. The grief too much for me to handle, I returned my gaze to the sidewalk below my feet and counted my steps to take my mind off of everything. By the time we reached town square, I had racked up 3,080 steps.

The square was a zoo, with Disney goons everywhere, their eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of rebellion. Those cold, heartless eyes that bore into your soul and sucked all the happiness out. I'd spent every day of my life since Disney took over trying to avoid their paralyzing gaze, as it sent a chill through my bones that refused to thaw. In fact, everybody had been cold since the creation of the empire. All the warmth had left with our freedom, and changed almost all of us for the worse. Those who were normally bubbly and upbeat were now forlorn and downcast. Those who had a zest for life instead trudged through it, dragging their feet with every miserable step.

"Attention subjects!" one of the goons, presumable the leader, shouted. There was really no reason for him to shout, because, while the square was packed at maximum capacity with people, none of them dared utter a single word. "Welcome to the first annual Lottery of the Disney Games! Just to remind you all of how this works, this box," he said, gesturing to a black, rectangular box with our sector logo on it, "contains the names of the leaders of this sector. One name will be randomly selected and its owner will have the honor of representing their sector in the Games!"

Apparently, he expected raucous cheering in response to this, as he raised his arms in a grand gesture and bowed his head. Instead, he received deafening silence, and many a whispered "Get on with it."

"Would the heads of the sector please step forward," he instructed, gesturing to an roped-off section of the square directly in front of the stage. My family and I slowly navigated through the crowd and stepped inside the section, looking at each other with sorrow behind our eyes. Much to my eventual regret, I risked a glance up at the head Disney goon. Even with his tinted sunglasses, I could sense he was staring directly at me. Then he smiled. Not a kind, affable smile, but one of sheer malice. I'd never thought I would cower at a smile, but this one made me cringe and dive for safety behind my father.

"One of this group here will be sent to the arena in a fight to the death with the chosen members of the other sectors. He or she will either serve as a sacrifice, or a proven warrior to strengthen the bloodlines of Disney's empire. If your name is chosen," he continued, shifting the focus of his speech to those of us in the roped-off section, "you will bring honor to your sector, whether you die representing it, or come home in glory."

Why was he even trying? I'm sure he had to realize that he was failing at stirring up these people, and they all just wanted to get it over with so they could go about their business.

"Without further a-due, I give you your representative in the first annual Disney Games!" he announced, reaching his hand into the black box. He pulled out a slip of paper, and began to unfold it. Either he was so dumb he couldn't figure out how to unfold it, or he was attempting to slow it down for dramatic affect.

"Come on man," I thought. "Hurry up so I can start fearing for someone's life, whoever it may be."

Time slowed down as he finished unfolding the slip of paper. The slip of paper that contained the fate of my family. Between the second it took for him to read the paper and the time the name left his lips, so many thoughts flew through my mind that I nearly passed out.

What if it's me?

I'll certainly get killed if it's me.

If I die, I'd never forgive myself.

My family wouldn't be able to cope with my death, especially if it ends like this.

What if it's someone else?

In couldn't live with myself if one of them was forced to go instead of me.

The death of someone close to me would certainly eat me up inside.

I held my breath as the words left his lips. It seemed to take twice as long for the vibrations of sound to register in my brain than usual. When I finally realized that the name was my own, everything came crashing down before my eyes. In an instant, I was being yanked out of the square by an overly-muscular Disney goon. But even his strength wasn't enough to overpower my dad, who had my other arm firmly in his grasp. I looked into his eyes, his sorrowful, agonized eyes, already glistening with new tears as others streaked down his face.

I returned his gaze with one of my own, one that said "Let me go. I promise I'll come back to you."

He seemed to get the message, and reluctantly let go of my arm, leaving bright red marks where his hand had gripped my forearm so desperately. Without his grip counterbalancing that of the Disney goon, I sprang toward him, nearly barreling headfirst into his chest. I took one final look at my grieving family as he dragged me by the arm away from the only home I'd ever known, the only one I'll ever know. I'll never forget their crestfallen faces for as long as I live.

Which probably won't be much longer.

 **Well, there you have it. What'd you think? Too much emotion? Not enough? Too short a chapter? I've tried to lengthen my chapters, but it always seems like I end up drabbling after 1,200 words. I promise next chapter is longer, it's over 2,500 words without author's notes. I'd love to hear what you thought. Until next chapter, dear readers!**


	3. Disney Headquarters

**Here's chapter 2! I was actually surprised at how long this chapter ended up being, since they normally don't exceed 1,500 words. But, hey, wherever the story takes you. Anyway, review replies:**

 **Guest: Thanks! And, as for who the person from the Lab Rats sector is going to be, you'll find out within a chapter or two, but I can't promise anything.**

 **saaami: Why thank you. I'm surprised at how many people love this idea, since I find it extremely weird when I try to look at it from a reader's perspective, but I'm glad you like it!**

 **MrMuddyPaws1022: Thank you! Don't worry, you're plenty worthy. The whole narrator-being-a-mystery thing just came to me as I was writing the prologue. I was originally going to say it outright, but now you'll have to stick around to find out!**

 **daphrose: Good. The whole point of the mystery narrator is to invoke curiosity. While those characters aren't exactly what I had in mind, they're actually quite intimidating. Maybe I'll have to rethink what these Disney goons are supposed to look like...**

 **Anyways, here's chapter 2!**

Chapter 2: Disney Headquarters

After my abrupt and unceremonious departure from town square after being chosen at the lottery, I was dragged by the muscular Disney goon to a train car on the tracks leading out of the sector. I'd never been outside the sector before, so the prospect of new sights lightened my mood just enough that I didn't just lie down and drown in misery. As I was hastily led into a seat by the window, two other Disney men materialized from the front of the train and gave me a lecture on how I was to behave on the train ride.

"Listen up, and listen real good," the first one said harshly.

"We've noticed that citizens don't view participation in the Games as an honor, like we do, and from previous experience, some of them tend to be a bit frantic to escape," the second one continued.

 _Well duh, why would people want to stay and die?_

"We don't want any funny business from you. You try to escape, security tightens. You stay seated, we begin to trust you and give you a little more space."

"Believe me, the trip is far more enjoyable with more space."

"Okay?"

"Yep. You couldn't be clearer," I replied, eager to get them to leave me alone. I had some serious things to think about, and that would be quite difficult with them hawk-eying me.

"Good. We're starting out with a two-man patrol. Get used to us," the first man said bluntly, before assuming a position of military rigidity next to my seat as the second man followed suit.

 _Man, Disney really keeps his goons in line._

Since they were turned the other direction, at least I could think clearly. As the train began to move, I stared out the window at the quickly receding view of my home. It was almost symbolic, the way that the skyline got smaller and smaller as I gained distance from my home, my life. Even if I were somehow to survive this, there was no doubt in my mind that it would change me forever.

In order to win, I would have to kill someone, probably even more than one. To return to my family, I would have to become a murderer.

I may not be a cold-blooded killer already, and I may not have been raised in the wilderness on nothing but meat and berries, and I may not be combat-trained, or have an IQ of 140, but none of that mattered anymore. I had promised my father that I would return to him, and was determined to keep that promise, and nothing but death itself would stop me from accomplishing that.

 _Okay, strategy time._

I certainly wouldn't survive all by myself, I simply didn't have the skill set. I would need an ally. Alliances were allowed in the Games, weren't they? They had to be, the only problem was choosing the right ally. Some of the people from other sectors may kill me on sight without waiting for a plea for mercy, and some may just be uninterested in allying themselves with someone without any survival or fighting experience. Well, I couldn't really decide who to make into an ally without knowing the options, so that part of the strategy would have to wait until I knew what I was up against.

Was I going to focus on offense or defense? I was never known for my aggression, in fact quite the opposite, so I doubted I would be able to bring myself to kill someone for any reason other than self-defense. Even that was a bit of a stretch for my generally loving personality. My best option was to just make a run for it and try to lay low. If I just stayed away from the others, maybe they'd all kill each other off and I wouldn't have to do any dirty work. Yes, that was the best way to make it out of this competition alive.

"We're getting close," one of the men said. "Before we get there, you need to be wearing this." He threw me a pair of black pants and a black shirt with my sector's logo on it. "We want the viewers to be able to distinguish which people are from which sector without constantly checking a list."

Viewers. The way he so casually said that word, as if these Games were nothing more than a movie for the entertainment of the people. In Disney's eyes, this was just entertainment, and, as disgusting as that thought was, it was the truth.

I went into the small changing room at the back of the train car to change and noticed the window near the ceiling in the room. I could probably fit through that window if I could reach it, but it wasn't worth the struggle. Moving furniture to give me enough of a boost to reach the window would make a lot of noise, and would take too long. I'd get noticed long before I could even get the window open. It was almost certainly locked anyway, and, even if I managed to get off the train, they'd just come back and catch me without much difficulty. I highly doubted my chances at outrunning Disney goons.

I looked in the full length mirror at the outfit they'd forced me to wear. The whole thing was skin-tight, and made me look like I came straight out of a spy movie. Considering the circumstances, it wasn't a bad look.

When I returned to the main body of the train car, we had stopped at a large building that I presumed to be Disney headquarters. The mouse-head logo stared me right in the face when I looked out the window, as big as an elephant. I had no desire to be dragged around by my arm again, so I followed the Disney goons willingly into the building.

The complex was massive, and as intricate as an ant's nest, with people milling about every which way. I stared in awe at the way they seemed to perfectly intertwine with each other, none of them ever running into each other despite the fact that they all looked down at clipboards as they walked. But, I couldn't marvel long, as the Disney goons that were leading me somewhere had continued ahead, clearly unimpressed by their coworkers' grace.

We continued down a maze of hallways, and I struggled to keep up with the goons' rapid pace. Not only were they nearly twice my height, but they took twice as many steps as I did in a given moment, so I was forced to jog just to avoid losing track of them. By the time we reached our destination, I was completely out of breath and it took excessive effort just to keep myself standing.

"You'd better shape up if you plan to survive this," one of the Disney goons said sternly, staring down at my exhausted form with an almost ironic gaze.

"The people who win competitions like this are the ones who can really run for their lives. Adrenaline won't carry you all the way," the second one continued.

"I hadn't exactly planned on having to run for my life until now," I gasped between ragged breaths. I had never run that long in my life.

"Fortunately for you, Disney is providing all the competitors with one week's worth of preparation for the Games. You can learn combat and general survival stuff."

 _Just great. Every single person I'm up against will be at least as trained as I am._

"This room right here will be your home during that week," the first goon said, opening the door to reveal a small room with a twin bed in it. "First training session is in a hour, I'm sure you can find your way."

With that remark, he and the other man left, marching back down the hallway to do whatever it was Disney goons did when they weren't terrorizing people.

Besides the bed, there was a small dresser already filled with exact copies of the outfit I was currently wearing. On one wall was a door leading to a ridiculously small bathroom, and, of course, the Disney logo appeared along the walls as a form of decorative wallpaper. If he loved anything, Disney loved self-advertisement.

Since I would have to find my way to wherever training was being held, and then find my way back to this room, I decided to explore the complex a little more in depth. I didn't absorb much of my surroundings on the way here since I was so focused on staying conscious. I left the room and journeyed down the hallway, opposite the direction from which I'd come, making sure to internalize the stretch of hall around my room.

For what seemed like a mile, there was nothing but other doors, all of which were locked. The entire area was void of people except myself, giving the hallway an eerie feeling.

 _Hmm, so they must be keeping the other competitors far away from me. I guess they don't want us killing each other before they can get it on film._

Finally, after half an hour of jiggling doorknobs, I reached a pair of double-doors that weren't locked. Before barging in, I peeked through the small window in the door, which showed me that the room was empty. I slowly opened the left door and peered inside, still no movement. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with caution, and scanned the room for any sign of life at all. Still nothing.

The room was gargantuan, about the size of four school gyms put together, with stations set up all around the perimeter. From sword fighting to fire lighting, you could have learned anything that would help in the Games in that room.

"Well, it's obvious that you're the most curious of the bunch," a voice remarked from a corner of the room. I jumped and turned to face him, not expecting a person to be here. There must have been another entrance, as I had thoroughly scanned this room before entering. "You're the first one to find the training center."

"Who are you?" I questioned.

"Why, you don't know who I am?" he asked mockingly. "I don't see how you can live in my empire and not know who I am."

"Disney?"

"That's _Emperor_ Disney to you!" he shouted angrily, clearly insulted at the lack of formal address.

"Sorry, Emperor Disney. What are you doing here?"

"I was just curious to see which of the competitors would find his or her way here first. The competitor rooms are placed all over the complex, but at a constant distance from this room. You were the first one to get bored just sitting in your room and go exploring, so you arrived at training first."

"But training isn't supposed to start for another half an hour, why does it matter?"

"Ah, you've stumbled upon an interesting question. Why does it matter? I'd like to know a lot about my competitors before they enter the arena, and you've just told me that you're not much of a thinker, you're a doer. A thinker would use their quiet room to work on planning out a strategy for making it home alive, while a doer would get bored and find out more about their environment."

"I worked out strategy on the train ride here."

"Yes, but a thinker would have gone into more depth: what do I know how to do and how can I use it to win? A thirty-minute train ride wouldn't be enough for a thinker. I can also conclude that you are either determined, or so stupid you're entertained by the easiest things. Walking down that endless hallway of locked doors would put an undetermined or intelligent person off, surely they should've found something by now? Most logic would lead a person to conclude that there were no open doors in that direction within fifteen minutes of searching, but you went on twice that long. Tell me, why didn't you stop?"

"Um, I don't know. I guess I just thought that there had to be something there, all the doors on this side of the building couldn't possibly be locked, could they?"

"You're in the headquarters of one of the largest empires in the world, I would think that there would be enough secrets for three buildings' worth of locked doors, wouldn't you?"

 _He had me there. Why had I continued searching? Because I truly believed that I had to find an unlocked door eventually? Because I had nothing better to do?_

"Your goons told me that I needed to go to the training session, and that I needed to find my own way. There's no way I could find my way into a locked room, so I knew one of the doors had to be unlocked."

"Is that what you people call them? Goons? I prefer to call them minions, but I guess that term doesn't apply when you lesser folk are talking about them. Anyway, you got me off topic. Trying to worm your way out of a riddle you can't solve, are you? Very clever, but it won't work. My minions could simply have been asking you to find a door behind which you could see a room fit for training, and wait there for someone to unlock the door for you, or unlock the door yourself."

"Because if they'd done that, you wouldn't be able to question me like this," I replied slowly. I didn't know where that answer came from, it just appeared in my mind and slipped through my lips before I could even understand what it meant. But now I realized that was the answer, Disney was using the search for the training room as a way to get inside his competitors' heads and make them question themselves. This way, they would think things through more in the arena and make it more interesting for him to watch. A genius plan, but fueled by sick motives.

"Very good. Maybe you really are a thinker. You realized that I'm using this week as a way to find out as much as I can about the contestants, and use that knowledge to discover their weaknesses and manipulate the arena to exploit those weaknesses, therefore making them struggle, and making a greater show for me."

 _Well, I wouldn't have put it that way, but I guess he generally understood the thought process._

"Sure," I answered. I figured it was best to keep it short, and limit his knowledge of my weaknesses. He seemed like the kind of person who could learn more about someone in a single conversation than he even knew about himself.

"I would delve deeper into your little mind, but it seems the next person has finally found her way here."

 **So, not much of a cliffhanger, but as close as you can really get in the early rising action of a story. Any guesses as to who found her way to the training room after our narrator did? Any guesses as to who the narrator is? I know it's way too early in the story to make a really educated guess, but wild hunches are always just as fun to hear! Until next chapter, please read and review!**


	4. Killers in Training

**I'm sorry that I haven't updated until now, it's just that the end of the school years has been incredibly busy for me and I didn't get chapter 4 done until now, so I didn't want to post chapter 3 yet, and I ran into a bit of writer's block on chapter 4, long story short: I didn't have time to write. Luckily, I only have one more week of school, and after that, I'll have plenty of time to write! Now, review replies:**

 **MrMuddyPaws1022: Thanks! I did try my best to make Disney an evil genius. You'll probably figure out who the main character is when the time is right, and once I've given enough hints. I'd be utterly shocked if anyone got the right answer right off the bat.**

 **Dirtkid123: Brace yourself, there are far more intense cliffhangers to come. }:)**

 **TheMeepyFreak: I'm impressed that you actually thought it out that much. I didn't think anybody would care enough to think it through like that. You'll have more clues to filter into that guess after this chapter.**

Chapter 3: Killers in Training

"Well, who do we have here?" Disney growled maliciously. I looked over at the entrance to the training room to see who had stumbled upon this room after I had. She was at least a year or two my senior, with dark, curly hair and glasses. Her clothing was identical to mine, but instead of my sector's logo, hers had 'I Didn't Do It' written in red block letters. What a sorry name for a sector.

"What is this place, the Disney goon playground?" she asked, glancing around the room at the various weapon stations scattered about the room.

"Why Delia, so nice of you to join us. I expected you to arrive here first, and it appears I wasn't too far off."

"Emperor Disney? What are you doing here? Who's that?"

"Why wouldn't I be here, this is my headquarters. And this," he announced, gesturing to me, "is your competition."

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Too bad we'll probably end up killing each other." Hey, if I was going to lay low and avoid these people throughout the Games, the least I could do was start building my innocent, no-clue-what-I'm-doing profile as soon as possible.

"Yep, that's usually enough to throw a wrench in a friendship," she replied sheepishly.

"Well don't just stand there, take advantage of your early arrival to training, get a step over the rest of the competition. You're not just going to lay down and die the second you enter the arena, are you?" Disney questioned.

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right, Delia and I should start learning survival and combat techniques immediately. Since my strategy was to mainly lay low and stay alive, I started with identifying edible plants. I'd never had to make sure my food wouldn't kill me, which was probably a very important skill in the wilderness. Delia began with snare-setting, which I decided I would visit after she left. If I was to slip these people's minds when they thought of the list of people they needed to kill, I should probably avoid them at all costs.

Now that two people had found the training room, Disney summoned goons to help us learn the skills at each station. A woman in her early thirties approached the edible plant station and helped teach me to distinguish food from poison, while the majority of the goons stationed themselves at weapons stations.

As I was learning the difference between belladonna and unripe tomatoes, Disney stood on a large pedestal in the center of the training room, his deep brown eyes surveying the entirety of the room. It scared me how often he just looked at stuff, as if he could control it with nothing but his own willpower. Although, with all his goons patrolling everything in the empire, I guess he really could control everything with nothing but a few spoken commands.

"Hey!" the woman at the station shouted in my ear, causing me to jump at the sudden noise. "If you zone out like that when choosing a plant to eat, you'll be dead before you can even realize that you just ate deadly toxins."

"Sorry, I just got lost in thought," I responded.

"You need to focus if you plan on surviving."

"I know. In the arena, I'm sure I'll be more attentive."

"For your sake, I hope so."

For the next ten minutes, I shut out all distractions as I learned what to eat and what not to eat. I discovered that I was actually pretty good at it, for someone who'd spent a lifetime just eating whatever was on the table. If the arena were a table, I'm sure there'd be more than just oatmeal on it.

"I was betting that you would show up next," Disney said. "Am I wrong to assume that you just picked up on the scent of the two people who came here before you?"

Picked up on the scent? What was he talking about? More importantly, who was he talking to?

Once again, I glanced at the entrance to see who the next competitor to find the arena was, and was shocked to find that the person standing in the doorway was... a dog. What kind of sector has a dog as one of its leaders? I felt horrible for the dog, which probably didn't stand a chance in a competition against humans. At least I assumed the rest of the competitors would be human. Then, I realized, a dog would have an advantage in a situation like this. It didn't need weapons to fight, it had a bite, and it didn't need to learn to hunt, that was its instinct, and it could easily outrun any human. Plus, this dog was so cute, any human except maybe Disney himself would struggle to kill it.

"Which sector is he from?" I asked the woman running my station, hoping she could answer my question.

"Dog with a Blog," she answered bluntly.

"Really? That's a real thing?"

"Yes, it's a real thing. The evidence is headed this way right now," she said, pointing to the dog as he trotted over towards us. When he arrived at the station, he sat down in front of the plants and looked the Disney goon in the eyes.

"I think he's expecting you to teach him," I said, noticing the Disney goon's ignorance of the dog.

"Oh. Right. How am I supposed to do this? It's not like he could understand me if I try to explain the difference."

"Teach him based on smell," I suggested. "Give him a good plant to sniff and act all happy, or give him a poisonous one and teach him that the smell is bad."

"That's a good idea. Thanks," she said to me, but her thanks fell on deaf ears, as I was already out of earshot. It had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to not pet the dog. I mean, he had one floppy ear and one perked up one, and they were different colors. Who could resist that? The first chance I got, I bailed from the station. I was fairly certain that I had enough knowledge already to not experience death by plant in the arena.

Since the other girl, Delia, was still at the trap-setting station, I decided to head to fire-starting. It was under-the-radar enough that other people probably wouldn't think to use it, but I thought it was worth learning. For all I knew, the arena was going to be like the arctic. The Disney goon running this station wasn't nearly as nice as the one from edible plants, and he was constantly eyeing me as if I were something his cat had dragged in from the sewers.

Despite his annoying aura of superiority, he was actually a decent teacher. He was in the middle of giving a demonstration on how to make a bow-drill when the next person entered the room. He was about the same age as Delia, with tousled dark hair and glasses as well. If it weren't for the different logo on his shirt, I would have thought they were brother and sister from the same sector. After a fearful glance at Disney in the center, he hurried over and joined Delia at trap-setting.

I watched in fascination as the small bundle of kindling beneath my instructor's spinning drill began to smoke, and then glowed orange when he placed it in a larger bundle of dry grasses. Within seconds, the kindling was alight, orange flames licking up and burning dangerously close to the man's hands. I knew I would struggle with holding a ball of fire when my turn came, but decided I'd worry about that when the time came.

"Now that you've seen how it's done in the end, we need to backtrack," he instructed. "99% of building a fire is preparation, 1% is the actual spark. Which of these materials would you use to build a fire?"

He gestured to a group of different piles of materials, including; dry grass, sticks the diameter of my finger, logs, bits of rubber tire, green leaves, and cattails.

"Um, grass, small sticks, and logs," I answered hesitantly. I wasn't sure if this was a trick or not, so I just went with the obvious.

"Correct. But remember, the logs don't go on until the end. You have to build up stick size gradually, otherwise it won't burn. Anything else you could use?"

"The leaves?"

"ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED?!" he screamed. "IF YOU PUT GREEN LEAVES ON A FIRE, IT'LL DO NOTHING BUT SMOKE, AND ALERT AVERYBODY WHO'S TRYING TO KILL YOU TO YOUR EXACT LOCATION! YOU MIGHT AS WELL USE A BEACON!"

I shrank back at his sudden outburst, which had drawn the attention of every living thing in the room, and probably helped those who weren't here yet find the training room. Even Disney stopped and stared at his own goon, giving him a look that clearly meant that there was punishment in his future.

"Anything that is green will smoke like crazy if you try to burn it. The key to a low-key fire is dry," he restated calmly, just barely managing to hold back another outburst.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know. It's almost as if you genuinely care whether I live or die."

"Now you listen up. You citizens think these Games exist just because Disney is a psychopath? You guys don't know half the truth. Sure, Disney is a psychopath, but he doesn't see these Games as just a way to torture the citizens. He thinks it's the right thing to do, strengthen the bloodlines of his empire. In his eyes, if you kill off all those who can't fend for themselves, the ones that are left will breed and turn this empire into a kingdom of superheroes."

"Why does he think that?" I asked, my curiosity peaked at this new information.

"Nobody knows. As I said, you guys aren't totally wrong, he is a psychopath. Rumor has it that he- nevermind, I've said too much already."

"No, you can tell me. How is it ever going to get out? I'm probably going to die in a week anyway."

"I'm sorry, I can't. If Disney thinks I'm feeding you rebellious thoughts, he'll kill me. Literally. Forget I ever said anything, let's get back to fire. So, you put the sticks on the fire in ascending size order."

He continued on a ten-minute lecture on how to build a fire properly, including every single detail from the angle to place the sticks against each other at to the precise amount of kindling to begin with. I didn't follow his instructions, as my mind had wandered elsewhere and wouldn't even consider coming back. Why was Disney a psychopath? Why did he feel that killing off the population through Games would make it stronger? Surely that wasn't true. Could artificial selection through bloody battles between sectors really make the population stronger? I could sort of see his logic, but it was as if I was looking through someone with horrible eyesight's glasses, and it was all fuzzy and indistinguishable. I guess if the only people who live are those who can win a fight for their lives, then the children will inherit their parents skill. But a lot of the people within a sector are either siblings or parents/children, how was that supposed to work?

"Hey, wake up! I'm giving a lecture here!" the Disney goon shouted, shaking me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said."

"Don't think about it. Your priority right now is to learn how to stay alive."

"You're right, I'll forget about it."

I lied. I didn't forget. Not even close.

~0~

Two hours later, I was still practicing building a bow-drill. All the other competitors had shown up at intervals throughout those two hours, and had entered the room at various levels of exasperation. I guess not everybody found aimlessly wandering hallways and trying doors as relaxing as I had. But one girl in particular had drawn my attention. She was tall, and obviously older than I was, with skin like a light cocoa, and from what I'd witnessed, she was clearly a contender in this competition.

From the second she'd walked in, she headed straight for the hand-to-hand combat station and started sparring with the instructor. She had him on the floor, begging for mercy, before Disney could even turn around to watch her. From the logo on her shirt, I discovered she was from a sector called KC Undercover. I'd heard of this sector once before, and rumor was that the heads of that sector were spies. After seeing her crush a Disney goon in combat, there was no doubt that she had experience in this sort of thing.

A real spy in the Disney Games. I'd better watch out for her in the arena.

Another person had me doubting my chances at winning this competition, even though he was the oldest person in the running by at least twenty years. When he arrived, he'd made a beeline for the 'improvised tools' station and within five minutes had made a rotating spit for cooking meat with just sticks and a length of vine. His skill for building things was obvious, and I decided to consider him as an ally for the arena. I would never be able to get along with someone like the KC Undercover girl, as I would be too afraid that she'd kill me in my sleep, but he seemed like the kind of person you'd want on you side. I could only hope that he wouldn't seem too inclined to murder me upon closer inspection. The three intertwined red circles on his shirt didn't offer any clues as to who he might be, since I was forbidden from educating myself on other sectors back home, therefore was unfamiliar with their logos.

The other competitors were all around my age, and included a Latina girl, a dark-haired boy with freckles, a tall, scrawny guy, a girl with blonde, curly hair, a blonde boy, and a two-dimensional person with a weird-shaped head and green hair.

Some of these sectors that Disney had created really made me question his sanity even more than the fact he was pitting humans against each other did.

 **I wasn't super proud of that chapter, but I have a funny anecdote to go along with it. Well, it's not that funny, but it might induce a chuckle. So, since I didn't want to show favoritism when choosing which characters to send into the arena, I literally had my own lottery. There was no author intervention in the characters that show up in this story, besides Emperor Disney himself. The name that I blindly drew out of the bucket from each show is the person being sent into the arena.**

 **Some I was really happy with, others may present writing challenges for me, but I will try to work my way around them and grow as a writer. So, please no 'Why didn't you put this character in the story?' reviews, okay? I didn't choose the characters going in, I'm only writing based on what random chance has provided me with.**

 **Based on that, any guesses as to who some of these people are? Some of them are painfully obvious, but others may be more difficult to guess. You have the list of shows in the beginning author's note of the prologue, and you have a list of descriptions (which are not in any particular order), so get guessing! Until next chapter, please read and review!**


	5. Let the Games Begin

**I'm really sorry for the long hiatus, it's just that my summer ended up being a lot busier than I expected it to be, and the start of school was super hectic, so I just couldn't find the time. I'll try my best to keep the gaps between updates shorter, but I can't promise that there won't be another hiatus.**

 **I apologize if this chapter seems like a bit of a huge jump, it's just that... I couldn't find anything to write for the life of me. Who wants to read a whole chapter on training when you've already had half a chapter anyway? I know I don't, I would just be begging the author to get on with it, so that's what I did.**

Chapter 4: Let the Games Begin

Even though I had been training practically non-stop for a week, it felt like it wasn't nearly enough. However, in that hectic week, I had learned how to make a fire, not kill myself with plants, set up snares, and wield a sword. I hoped most of that would come in handy, since I chose not to become a jack of all trades, and instead mastered a few important things to the best of my ability.

No matter how much I willed it otherwise, the first day of the Games had arrived. Within the next two hours, I would be fighting for my life in the arena. After observing the behavior of the other contenders, I had narrowed my possible allies down to just three; the adult, the green-haired guy, and Delia. They seemed the most capable of the bunch, without being so intimidating that I feared them. However, I had yet to see their opinions of teaming up with someone else.

After setting my goal of the day, (not die within six hours), I got out of bed, changed into another exact copy of the outfit I had been wearing for the past week, and hurried through the hallways to the training room. Yesterday, we had been told to be there at 7:00 o'clock sharp, or we'd be given a delayed start. Not wanting to put myself at any disadvantages, I left earlier than I needed to, and arrived at 6:50. The only other people in the room were the KC Undercover girl and a few Disney goons.

With no one to talk to, I became lost in my own thoughts about the Games and how I planned to make it out on the other side. Since training had begun, we had been given more information on the inner workings of the Games. We would all enter the arena from the exact same spot, in a horizontal line, about two hundred yards from a large pile of supplies. Some of the supplies would be extremely useful, like a length of rope or a box of matches, while others would be trash, like a box of crayons or a keychain. The only way to know for sure what you were getting was to open the backpack and check, which would be quite difficult with eleven other people storming the pile and fighting with each other over the good stuff.

My goal was just to survive the initial skirmishes. I would sprint out to the pile, grab whatever was in my path, and keep on sprinting until I couldn't sprint any more. Hopefully, that would be enough to deter any possible combatants, and would put me off of their radar long enough for me to settle into the rhythm of the games and work out how to win. My only concern was that someone would run after me, and that someone would be faster than I.

"Well, now's the time. If you'll all follow us, we will lead you to the arena entrance," one of the Disney goons announced. I had been so absorbed in my own head that I didn't notice the ten minutes that had passed.

All twelve of us marched, two by two, behind the leading Disney goon, with the others patrolling the flanks and ensuring nobody made a run for it. Directly in front of me was the KC Undercover girl, and to my left was the freckled kid.

"All of these people are too young to die," I thought to myself. It was true, besides the older man, nobody could have possibly been older than college-age.

After a good twenty minutes of traipsing through the halls of Disney headquarters, we arrived in a small room with no windows, but with a large gate across from the entryway. Upon closer examination, the gate was like the type you would find a horserace, with space to keep twelve people. My suspicions had been confirmed; Emperor Disney held us citizens in no higher regard than animals.

"All right, we're loading up now, left to right by sector number. You hopefully know which sector you belong to, otherwise you can ask one of us, for a three-second penalty," the head Disney goon instructed.

Fortunately for me, I knew which sector I belonged to, as it was only posted on every public building in the entire town. I quickly entered the gate on the far right, number twelve, and readied myself to run the second the gate opened. I felt bad for those unfortunate few who had forgotten, because three seconds was a long time to be held back in a sprinting race. They had better be extremely fast if they wanted any chance of getting decent supplies.

"Those of you who incurred three-second penalties; sectors 1 and 6, by not bothering to memorize one little number, you have dramatically reduced your odds of making it out of here alive. I hope you've done your families proud. As for the rest of you, your gates will open when the light in front of you goes from yellow to green. Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," the group responded in perfect synchronicity. A year ago, I would have laughed at the fact that we all said the exact same thing at the exact same time, but almost everything I used to enjoy had lost its magic when Disney took over. I glanced just above my head at the glowing red light as it switched to yellow, and then, after a tense five seconds of crouching in preparation, it flashed green.

And just like that I was off, my legs carrying me faster than I'd ever run before, adrenaline coursing through my veins like steroids, pushing me on faster and faster. The pile of backpacks was getting closer and closer as the seconds ticked by, and I prepared myself to reach down and grab them.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the dog snatch a backpack in his jaws and run for the hills to my left. As I came upon the pile, I bent over at the waist and grabbed a backpack in my right and left hands. Swinging one of them over my shoulder, I made room to grab a third as I approached the outskirts of the pile. At the last possible moment before my legs carried my past the pile, I grabbed another backpack in my hand and raced off into the forest.

As I ran, I heard a bugle call sound behind me, a long, low tone that resonated in my skull and sent chills down my spine. I wondered why they would sound a call after the Games had already started, but was too busy attempting to continue to run to think much on it.

I had already slowed to a light jog after five minutes, so I decided to take a break and avoid passing out from exhaustion, and orient myself as well. Glancing around, I saw nothing but deciduous trees in all directions. Beneath my feet, a dense covering of grass and mushrooms extended as far as I could see.

"Good," I thought. "If trees can grow, that probably means that there's a water source somewhere. Now, what was the priority list I was taught during training? The three threes? Three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. I guess that means shelter is a priority right now."

I sat down in the shade of a large oak tree and began sifting through the contents of my backpacks for resources to aid me in building a shelter. One of the packs was a decoy, filled with nothing but plastic jewels. They were pretty, but wouldn't be of much use in my current situation. Maybe when I finished, I would add a little flair, but that was for later. Fortunately, the second and third bags provided much more useful items. Two large coils of rope, a pocketknife, and a machete were some of the items that I found in the packs. I thought about how lucky I was to have blindly grabbed such a valuable asset in this competition. Others could be stuck in the wilderness with nothing more than a backpack full of plastic gems.

Now that I had ceased running for a while, the aches in my feet attacked with a vengeance. Even after training, my body still wasn't used to such vigorous exertion, and the uneven terrain of the forest didn't help matters any. I could only hope that I hadn't bruised a bone or done any major damage, since an injury like that would prevent me from surviving this competition.

After the pain in my feet had subsided enough for me to bear weight, I got right to work on finding and cutting branches for my shelter. I'd never used a machete before, and it probably wasn't the right tool to use for the job anyway, but regardless, it still took me two hours just to cut the branches. By the time I'd found a place to set up and gathered all the support beams, the sun was already at its peak. Exhausted, I sat down in the shade provided by the tree and thought about what my goals were. I knew I wouldn't last the entire competition without killing anyone, so I would eventually have to go on the offensive.

However much I loathed the idea of having to kill an innocent person, I knew it would eventually have to be done. It would be a miracle if the Games played themselves out without me having to do anything but stay alive. For that to work, the last two people other than me would have to battle and both mortally wound the other. Highly unlikely. But if I was lucky, I could spend at least a week just surviving. Hopefully, that wouldn't be my last week alive.

I forced myself to my feet and began gathering smaller sticks to weave into my lean-to shelter. After another two hours of work, it finally looked like a real shelter. I stuffed the openings with leaves and moss to insulate it, then crawled inside to admire my handiwork. It wasn't very big, but if this arena was going to get cold at night, I wanted a smaller space to help preserve heat. It wasn't exactly a palace fit for a queen, but it would likely keep out water, wind, and most animals, and that was good enough for me.

With the hard work of the day complete, I lay down in my shelter and decided to think more on the bugle call that had sounded at the very beginning. It certainly wasn't the call to officially begin the Games, because it was too late for that, but it was clearly played on purpose. Did Disney put a trumpet in with the supplies? I didn't think he would do that, but maybe it was just another useless item he placed to mess us up. but if it was useless, why did someone take it out of the box and play it?

As I thought more about it, I realized that the bugle call is played to signify the death of a contestant. I made perfect sense, someone was killed in the first minute of the Games, and a bugle call was played to let the other competitors know that the playing field had shrunk. But, if I was correct, that meant someone killed another person right off the bat. How could someone be so cruel? Whoever it was, he or she didn't even give the other person a chance. It wasn't fair that someone died without even having the time to arm himself and make it a fair fight. If I ever found out who killed someone in that short time, I would probably have a bit of an easier time killing him than I would any other person.

As afternoon blazed on, and the sun sank lower and lower towards the western horizon, four simple words repeated themselves in my mind.

Let the Games begin.

 **As you can probably tell, this wasn't my best chapter, but I ran into a bit of writer's block along the way, and tried semi-successfully to work around it. I hope it turned out okay-ish at worst. Just letting you know, the narrator ended up being in sector 12 completely by chance. I randomly drew numbers to pick each show's sector, and by some random chance, the show that our narrator belongs to came out as number twelve, just like in the Hunger Games. I find that a bit spooky, but anyway, until next chapter, please read and review!**


	6. The Figure in the Shadows

**Success! I'm updating within two weeks! I'll try to keep it more consistent than I've been lately, but no promises. Anyway, review replies:**

 **Crescent Moon Dancer: Good. You're supposed to be curious about the narrator, that means I've done my job. I hope you've managed up until now, here's the next chapter!**

 **Dirtkid123: Thank you! Here's the next update!**

 **daphrose: Thank you, I was concerned about skipping that time period. As for the person who died, I just put the names of all the characters who weren't essential to the plot in a box and drew one at random XD. You'll find out who it was eventually.**

Chapter 5: The Figure in the Shadows

An hour after I had completed my shelter, it began to get dark as the sun set. I decided to try to set some traps with the little light I had left in hopes of getting some food to sustain me. I didn't have enough time to look for water, but food was next on my priority list, so it seemed like a good enough idea. As I searched the ground around me for any signs of tracks, I had that creepy feeling that someone was staring at me. Quickly turning around, I didn't see anybody, but the branches of a shrub nearby were violently quaking as if someone had just shaken them.

"Well that's unnerving," I thought as I went back to scouring the area. Was it an animal? If so, was it hunting me? Was it another contestant? If so, was it hunting me? In this situation, I was the prey in an infinite sea of hunters, be they human or animal.

Putting the incident off as a rabbit hiding in the bushes, I continued with my search for nearby game trails. About ten feet from my shelter, I found a set of tiny footprints in the muddy earth. The front paws had four toes, and the back had five, each with little dots ahead of them, indicating claws. This information, along with the general size of the tracks, told me they belonged to a groundhog. I followed them, believing they would lead me right to the animal that had made them. Instead, they simply trailed off as I reached drier ground. Disappointed, I decided to set a trap along the trail anyway, in case he walked back this way.

I tied a piece of the rope in a noose, and used small bushes to prop it up along the trail. It wasn't perfect, but hopefully the groundhog was stupid enough to crawl through it, and I would have a meal within a few days. Returning to camp, I put all my supplies into one of the backpacks and curled up in my shelter, the pack enclosed in my arms in case any other tribute wanted to come by and steal it.

As I lay within my shelter, I caught a flitting glance of what looked like a large, black, ape running through the trees about twenty feet away. I retreated the deepest corner of the shelter and hugged the backpack, my only sense of security, up to my chest to calm myself down. I scanned the forest I could see for any more signs of motion before relaxing a little bit. Whatever it was, it was nowhere in sight anymore.

For hours, I attempted to fall asleep, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins from my encounter with the creature refused to allow my eyes to close. Contributing to my uneasiness was my lack of experience in sleeping in the wilderness. Every little noise and eerie gust of wind made me jerk to attention, fearing the creature was back again, or something else was out to get me. Every twitch of a branch, every bird takeoff, and every cricket chirp put me more on edge. Too add to that, the moisture in the ground beneath my back seeped into my shirt and was quite uncomfortable, I would have to remember to cover the ground tomorrow before I had to sleep again. Along with the incredible nervousness, question after question forced itself into my thoughts and added to my delirium.

What was that thing?

Was it the same thing that I thought I saw earlier?

Is it an animal?i'

Is it a person?

Is it dangerous?

Why is it following me?

Is it hunting me?

Is it just my imagination?

Am I going insane on my first day in the arena?

Is there some sort of poisonous gas in the air that's making me hallucinate?

"Okay, that's just ridiculous," I told myself. "It's nothing important, it's not going to hurt you. If it wanted to hurt you, it would have done so already. Just go to sleep and you'll feel better in the morning."

Luckily, I was able to listen to myself and fell into as peaceful a sleep as was possible on the cold forest ground. Throughout the night, I dreamed of home, my family, and life before Disney. How I wished that dream was reality.

~0~

After a disappointingly short sleep, I was awoken by the rising sun. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I crawled out of the shelter and glanced around the area for anything I should be concerned about. All my supplies were in the one backpack, so I didn't exactly have much to survey. I told myself that today I would make this into more of a camp and less of a shelter in the middle of the woods. The first thing on my to-do list was to look for water.

In my week of training, I had learned that water always flows downhill, and streams usually form at the bottom of hills and in valleys. The area around me was relatively flat, so I decided to meander around the area until I found a hill I could follow down.

I set off along the groundhog tracks I had found last night, which were slightly less defined after the wearing of time, and checked the trap along the way. Unfortunately, nothing had stumbled upon the noose. Oh well, I'd get food eventually. Water was my top priority right now, so I continued walking in hopes of finding some sort of slope to follow. After a five-minute trek to nowhere, I noticed I was standing on an incline, with the downhill facing north. Elated, I increased my pace to a light jog as I followed the 'yellow brick road' to water. I hadn't realized until now, when water seemed so close, how thirsty I was. I'd never gone a whole day without drinking anything until yesterday, and I was parched.

As I neared the very bottom of the hill, I heard a soft trickle in the distance. I sprinted the last two hundred yards to the small stream in a gully ahead of me. As thirst took control, I forgot all about my training and gulped down water straight from the stream, using my hands as a cup. The wetness of it felt so good in my dry mouth, and every gulp eased away the minor dehydration headache I didn't realize I had. It wasn't until my thirst was quenched that I realized how stupid I had been. I drank fresh water without boiling it first.

"What have I done?" I asked myself. "I probably just drank parasites, and within a few days, I'll be too sick to survive out here. Any chance I had of living through this just flew out the window, and all because I couldn't control myself when faced with something I wanted." In that moment, I promised myself that, if I miraculously hadn't contracted some horrible sickness from drinking that water, that I would exercise every ounce of willpower I could muster to survive out here. If not for me, I would do it for my family.

I knew I would need more water in the future, and daily trips to this stream didn't sound like a very enticing option, so I pulled a small canteen out of my backpack and filled it with water. Once I got a fire going, I would make sure to boil the water before drinking it.

As I made my way back up the hill, I again had that unnerving sense that I was being watched. I stopped mid-stride and looked around, even daring to call out to whoever (or whatever) was out there.

"Hello? Is someone there?" I asked quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the same twitch in the branches that I had seen the first time I felt watched, but no response came.

Whatever this thing was, it sure was elusive. The rest of the way back to my shelter, I paused every third step to check for any more signs of the creature. I didn't see or hear anything, but the hairs on the back of my neck were still standing up in anticipation.

When I returned to my shelter, I left the canteen in the back and set off again, this time in search of an ignition source for a fire. If I was planning any long-term surviving out here in the woods, I was going to need a fire, whether it be for boiling water, cooking food, or repelling mosquitoes. The area west of my shelter looked quite promising, so I scoured it for anything that would make a decent bow drill.

Fortunately, I found a perfectly-sized, flexible stick for the body of the bow, and a good stick for the spindle. I hoped I could use the rope I found in my backpack to hold the spindle, since this forest seemed to be completely void of vines. An hour's searching provided me with enough supplies and kindling to get a decent fire going, and I hoped I could get the bow drill to work properly, since I succeeded with it more than any other fire-starting method. If this one didn't work, nothing would, unless I happened to find a box of matches.

I placed my bundle of dry grass in front of me, and grabbed a coil of rope from my backpack. I would need to cut the rope to make it light enough for a decent bow, which I was reluctant to do, since sacrificing a perfectly good rope for something that may not work didn't sound like a smart thing to do in a survival situation. But I didn't see any other way to progress, so I chopped a decent length off of the main coil and wound it around the stick to make the bow.

I placed the spindle, which was now comfortably tucked into the loop of string on the bow, onto a flat piece of wood and poised myself to begin. I began to push the bow rapidly back and forth, hopefully creating enough heat from friction to light an ember in the wood. After a minute or two, the wood began smoking profusely, and my spirits soared. Where there's smoke, there's fire. With new energy, I spun the bow faster, but my enthusiasm was too much for my own capabilities, and the spindle lost traction on the wood. It slipped out of its place, taking the drill out of my hands with it.

I attempted to light the existing ember by blowing gently on it, but it wasn't enough. The orange glowing light flickered out, and so went my hope. Despite my discouragement, I knew I had to try again, and again after that until I succeeded.

Three tries proved futile, and I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. The wood was dry, I had done it before during training, but I could not get a fire started for the life of me. I had tried so many times, my hand was blistered from holding the wood, and the rock I used to keep the spindle in place had a circular indentation in it from the friction of the stick.

Deflated, I took a break and returned to the shade of my shelter. The relentless heat of the arena was dehydrating me way too quickly for my liking, but I didn't dare drink any more water without boiling it first. I hadn't gotten sick from the water I drank from the stream yet, but I didn't want to push my luck.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shadowy figure in the trees in the outskirts of my camp. Upon closer examination, the shadow was distinctly human.

"Who's there?" I asked aloud. No answer came, but the shadow disappeared into the woods.

"Must be shy," I chuckled, attempting to calm myself down. This shadow in the distance was really freaking me out. More than likely, whoever was stalking me didn't want me to notice them, so they could kill me more easily. However, there was a minuscule chance it was someone looking for an alliance, and I would be more than happy to oblige. Maybe this person could help me make a fire.

Determined to discover the intents of the mysterious figure, I decided to follow it. Fortunately for me, it had left an obvious trail through the undergrowth when it fled from my camp. All I needed to do was follow the trampled plants, no tracking skills necessary.

Along the way, I tried to deduce everything I could about my target from its trail. Obviously, whoever it was was inexperienced in the woods, or just wasn't concerned with being followed. Based on the distance between footprints, the person was probably at least five foot six, but no more than six feet, so likely a male.

With my limited knowledge of trails, that was as much as I could figure out, but I didn't need any more, since I had arrived at my destination. Before me was a camp far more advanced than my own. It had a shelter twice as large, a fire pit in the middle with strips of meat cooking and a pot of water already boiling, and on the ground was painted three entwined red circles. Where the paint came from, I had no idea, but I hoped it was just berry juice.

"It's been two days, how did he make all this in so short a time?" I asked myself.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" a voice asked angrily.

I turned around to come face-to-face with the quite-unhappy owner of the camp.

"Um, I followed a trail from my camp, and it led here," I replied meekly. "May I ask you what you were doing at my camp?"

"Just observing the competition's living situation and proving that mine is superior."

"Yes, this is quite a camp you've got going here. May I ask why you painted the ground? And, um, what you painted it with?"

"How else is everybody supposed to know it's mine? It's the closest thing to a trademark one can get in the middle of the wilderness. And it's just the juice of some fruit I found a mile or so from here, I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you're implying."

"Okay, then. I'll just be on my way," I said, starting to edge back toward the trail to my camp.

"Oh no you don't, I don't trust you. You're probably just going to come back and kill me. Besides, I can tell you really don't want to leave. My camp is pretty amazing compared to yours, and I wouldn't want to leave if I were in your shoes either."

"Are you saying you want me to stay?"

"Well, it's always a good idea to have someone on watch so you don't get murdered in your sleep."

"But you want something in return, is that it?"

"Actually, not really. I have just about everything I could need in this situation, because I'm just that amazing. But I'm a good person, and I would be willing to open my camp to a lesser competitor if she promises not to kill me in my sleep."

"Do I seriously look like someone who would kill you?"

"Never judge a book by its cover. I learned that lesson a long time ago."

"Okay, I'll accept your offer, if you promise not to kill me the second I let my guard down."

"If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead. But if it makes you feel better, I'll say it outright. I won't kill you, if you won't kill me."

"Sounds like a plan. but before we get too into this, I should probably get this out of the way. What's your name?"

"You mean you've never heard of me? I'm Donald Davenport."

 **So, not my best chapter, but I kind of ran out of ideas. I know where I want to take this story, but I don't want to rush into anything. I have a bunch of dots that make up the plot, but I haven't quite figured out how to connect them yet. But the alliance between the narrator and Davenport is one of those dots, so I decided to get started on that. How many of you suspected the shadowy figure was him? Any guesses as to what's going to happen next? Until then, read and review!**


	7. Sneak Attack

**Another chapter! Yay! I hope you're as excited as I am, because this is where things start to pick up a little. But before we get on with it, review replies:**

 **Dirtkid123: I was thinking it seemed like Bigfoot when I was writing it XD. As for the narrator, I guess you'll have to stick around and find out**

 **Crescent Moon Dancer: Thank you, I tried to get his character to be as accurate as possible. Only he would think to trademark something in this situation**

 **Sodaluv8: You'll just have to stick around and find out the narrator. The mystery is a part of the story**

 **PicklePie: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! I'll reveal the narrator when the time is right**

 **yukiandkyo: Thank you! Maybe you'll be able to figure out who the narrator is eventually. Reading your review made my day wonderful! Thanks!**

 **Melon-Lord-of-Fire: I'm glad you like it! You'll find out the narrator soon enough... when the time is right.**

Chapter 6: Sneak Attack

"Okay, Davenport, which sector are you from? I don't recognize this symbol you've painted on the ground," I inquired, gesturing to the red circles.

"Lab Rats," he replied. "Sector number eleven."

"Why would someone use innocent little rats in a lab? I would think that people would treat even rodents with more respect than that!"

"No, no, no, it has nothing to do with actual rats in a lab, although I have to agree with you on the cruelty in using lab animals. The sector is centered around bionic children."

"Oh. I've heard there was a sector with bionic people, but I wasn't sure if it was just a rumor."

"It's no rumor, they're real."

"Are you bionic?"

"No, I'm just the mastermind behind the whole operation. They'd just be regular teenagers if it weren't for me," he said, and from his tone I could tell that he was a person with an ego too big to contain.

"Okay," I replied blankly, not wanting to upset my only ally. I was surprised to have made one so early in the competition, and I wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

"Wait a minute, did you leave your camp unattended to come find me?" Davenport asked urgently.

"Yes, I can't be in two places at once."

"Did you bring all the important resources that you had?"

"No, I just followed your trail here, I didn't expect to actually find you," I replied, the thought of someone stealing my backpack full of useful supplies now dawning on me.

"How could you be so stupid?! Go back and get it right now!" he demanded.

"Okay, I'll go get it," I said, running off back towards my camp.

Maybe making this man an ally was a mistake, he was really bossy. But, I didn't exactly have many options, and he seemed to know what he was doing, so I decided I'd trust him, at least for now. The second he did something questionable, I would be out of there as fast as I could possibly flee.

Upon returning to my camp, I luckily didn't see anything that suggested someone had raided it. I grabbed my backpack and hurriedly returned to Davenport's camp. Along the way, I checked my groundhog trap only to find it still empty. Oh well, I was sure I'd get food eventually with Davenport on my side. Even if he wasn't bionic, he clearly had the skill to make it out here.

I arrived back at camp, and noticed that Davenport was nowhere in sight. The circumstances causing me to automatically fear the worst, I frantically called his name, "Davenport?"

"Yes?" he replied from behind the shelter, fixing some moss that had fallen off.

"Nothing, I just wanted to make sure you were still here. I didn't see you and wondered if, you know," I said, internally sighing with relief.

"If some other competitor had killed me, you would have heard the bugle call. They signal a death."

"Right, I forgot about the bugle call."

As if one of the other contestants had heard our discussion about the bugle call, and wanted to show us how it worked, the tone sounded in the distance about three seconds after I had finished speaking.  
"Who do you think that was?" I asked Davenport.

"I don't know, but we'll find out tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"Every night, they put a hologram of all the people who died in the sky. The first night it was the dorky-looking boy with glasses."

"I didn't notice that. Well, I hope it's that KC Undercover girl that died, she scares me."

"If that's the case, I highly doubt she died. If she had skill, she'll be one of the last ones alive."

Deep down, I knew not many other competitors stood a chance against her, but I hoped that Disney would handicap her by giving her some additional challenges in the arena.  
"Could you do me a favor and see if that water's boiling yet? I've had it on the fire for half an hour, but I'm not sure how hot it is."

I walked over to his fire pit and glanced at the water in the container, observing the tiny bubbles.

"Yeah, it's boiling," I replied. "What should I do with it?"

"Just set the timer for half an hour."

"What timer? We're in the middle of the woods, the only time I can tell is if it's day or night."

"I rigged up a little something in my spare time, it's over there by that tree," he said, gesturing to the large oak on the edge of the clearing.

I walked over the the oak and found an intricate machine by its base, one which consisted of a rock hanging from a rope draped over a branch of the tree, on which the other end was tied a sack. A container of water sat by the face of the 'clock', and empty container with hastily-drawn numbers up the side. "Honestly, he took the time to make a timer in this situation?" I murmured to myself. "The guy's in a fight for his life, and he decides that keeping time would be a valuable advantage."

"Just pour the water into the sack and wait," Davenport instructed from across the clearing, all without looking up from his work on the shelter. I guess he assumed I wasn't capable of figuring out his fancy timer gadget on my own, and stepped in to make sure I didn't screw anything up. Since he was my best shot at making it through this competition, I just did as he said without a word and poured the water into the sack. I watched in utter fascination as water began to drip through the fabric and pile in the cup beneath.

"How on Earth did you figure out how to make this timer? Does it really work?" I asked excitedly.

"I calculated the rate at which water soaked through the fabric of the sack, then measured out the volume of water that fell into the cup based on the amount of time I left it to sit. Theoretically, it should work with a one-minute deviation from the actual time at worst. I couldn't figure out how to make an alarm that would go off when time was up, so you'll just have to keep checking the timer until the cup fills up to the thirty-minute mark," he explained, sounding genuinely disappointed in himself for not figuring out an alarm.

"That's genius," I told him. I wasn't even attempting to kiss up to him, the timer had proved what I had assumed from the second I laid eyes on this camp he set up: Donald Davenport was a genius.

"It was nothing, "he replied, with a hint of what I assumed was attempted modesty.

"So what do you want me to do for the next half hour?" I asked, wanting to make myself useful.

"Do you know anything about edible plants?"

"I can identify maybe twenty species of plant, half of which are edible."

"In that case, go ahead and search for some around camp. Don't stray too far, you never know who or what might be lurking."

"Okay, I'll be back soon."

I ventured into the woods behind the timer, and set out to find some sort of plant that we could eat. Most of the leaves on the surrounding trees were out of my reach, so I continued a little further from camp. Hopefully, I'd stumble upon a bush with edible berries or something like that. Five minutes of searching provided me with no fruit to show for my effort, but I wouldn't give up so quickly. I scoured every shrub and tree for something that looked familiar, but to no avail. The forest seemed to be entirely void of anything edible. "I saw groundhog tracks earlier, that groundhog must be eating something out of this forest," I told myself.

Another ten minutes, and I still hadn't found a single leaf that I deemed safe to eat. Everything in here was either poisonous for sure, or some species that I didn't recognize. I wasn't willing to risk eating anything I hadn't seen before, since that was what the edible plant instructor at training had said. If I wasn't one hundred percent sure it was safe, I couldn't eat it.

It wasn't until I decided to head back to camp that I realized I didn't know where I was. In my vain search for food, I had lost the direction of camp. "Davenport's going to kill me," I muttered, just as I heard a loud rustle from the trees above. I quickly glanced up, finding the branches swaying violently from some sort of impact. I scanned the canopy around me, but couldn't find evidence of anything large enough to move the branches like that. "It's just the wind," I assured, attempting to calm my own nerves. I knew it wasn't the wind, but the idea that I was being stalked again was too unnerving to think about now. The first person to follow me ended up becoming my ally, but the odds of a second stalker being friendly were slim to none. I pushed thoughts of being hunted to the back of my mind and focused on getting back to camp.

I decided to attempt to climb a tree and scout my way back to camp from there. I had never learned how to climb trees, but trying couldn't hurt. To my left was a sturdy-looking tree with some branches that I might be able to reach, if I jumped high enough. I stood beneath the lowest branch, which was still at least six or seven feet off the ground, and prepared myself to leap. Even with all the force I could muster, I could only propel myself high enough for my fingers to barely scrape the branch, much less grab hold of it. Dismayed, I tried to wrap my limbs around the trunk and inch my way up to the branch. That method proved just as ineffective, as I simply wasn't strong enough to pull myself up the tree.

My only hope of ascending the tree was to swing a rope over the branch, but, unfortunately, I had left my backpack with the rope in it back at camp. In fact, I had neglected to bring any supplies with me on this endeavor, which, looking back, was an absurdly stupid decision. With no way to get back to camp, and the idea that something was out here stalking me, panic began to set in. If I didn't find my way back to camp, I would die of dehydration or hypothermia. If I wasn't back soon, Davenport would worry. If he came looking for me, and something bad happened to him, I would never be able to forgive myself.

As these thoughts swirled around in my head, the eerie feeling that I was being watched returned with a vengeance. Another scan of my surroundings proved that whatever it was had very attuned hiding skills, or that paranoia had set in. I'd never truly been lost before, which only worsened the situation. A rustle of leaves here, a swaying branch there, every twitch of the forest set me more and more on edge. If this didn't stop soon, I would probably keel over from fear. The whistling of the wind and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet as I stumbled in circles, all made me feel like I was in a nightmare, with no escape from the dread. I wouldn't be surprised if I was foaming at the mouth, I felt like a caged animal. The forest seemed to close in around me, and I started to hear whispering voices in the wind. What was this sensation? Was the disorientation causing me to literally go crazy?

Another loud rustle of the branches overhead, and I jerked up. This time, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a black figure leaping gracefully into another tree. What was that? An animal? Another competitor? I grew even more panicked as time went on, each second felt like a century. I barely registered my own screaming as the figure dropped from the trees, right on top of me.

 **So, a bit of a cliffhanger for you guys, but you can't exactly have a good suspenseful story without them, can you? Anyway I don't have much to say on that, so, until next chapter, please read and review!**


	8. Another Brick in the Wall

**I know you've been waiting to find out what happens next, so I won't keep you waiting very long. But first; review replies:**

 **Dirtkid123: No promises...**

 **daphrose: I'm glad you're excited! I love watching my favorite characters die too, it's a bit of a simple pleasure of mine. Nice job pointing out the 'she' last chapter, I wasn't sure how many readers would catch that. Thanks for reading! I hope you stick around!**

Chapter 7: Another Brick in the Wall

It happened so fast, like lightning striking a lone tree during a thunderstorm. A single flash of brilliant light and the tree was nothing but charred wood. I was certain that I was doomed to become like that tree: a burnt mess of dead ashes, when the figure jumped on top of me. I was in no condition to fight off an attacker, and even in my prime, there was no way I would stand a chance against this particular foe.

It was none other than KC Undercover girl herself.

Before I knew it, I was flat on my back, the girl kneeling over me with a frighteningly large knife in her hand. I kicked and struggled beneath her weight, but I was no match for her. A week's worth of survival training was simply not long enough to build muscle mass, and this girl was clearly an experienced fighter. She wielded the knife with practiced ease, as if it was nothing more than a paintbrush in the hand of an artist.

I wondered why she was hesitating so long, since I was clearly not her first kill. Upon her right sleeve, two circular badges were stuck, each bearing the face of one of the tributes. Just below her shoulder was the scrawny dark-haired boy with glasses, and below him was Delia.

"That's sick," I thought. "Disney must have sent those to her when she killed those people, and made her wear them like badges of honor."

"Oh, you're enjoying my achievement tags," she snarled at me. "I'm looking forward to adding your pretty face to my collection. By the time these games are over, I'm going to need longer arms."

I was utterly horrified at the prospect of my picture being turned into a trophy for this girl to carry around with her as she murdered more innocent people, which provided adrenaline to aid me in my struggles to escape. But even fear was not enough to allow me to overcome her sheer strength. "It's so cute how you try to escape, even though you know it's futile," she taunted.

"Why did you kill them?!" I yelled in her face, with as much anger as I could possibly display through the thick coat of fear.

"For the same reason I'm going to kill you, which is the same reason any of us would kill anybody out here. Because the other people are just in the way of making it out of here alive."

It was upon hearing those words that I realized that the KC girl was not some ruthless murderer. She was in the exact same situation as I was, but she chose to handle it quite differently. She certainly had the means to win this competition, and her motive was likely identical to mine: returning home to her family. The mercilessness was nothing more than a way for her to plow through the rest of the people to get home.

"Who is it?" I asked her, ceasing my struggles.

"Who is who?" she replied, holding the knife to my throat to make sure I couldn't get away.

"Who is it you need to get home to?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I can tell from the way you're looking at me that you know exactly what I'm talking about. I can tell you have a soul, you're just ignoring it so that you can kill everybody else without remorse and get home to whoever it is that is rooting for you to succeed."

"Why should I tell you?"

"Why not? You're going to kill me anyway, it's not like I can spill your secrets to anyone."

"My family-," she began, only to be cut off in the middle of her sentence as a large rock hit her in the side of the head. She tumbled off of me from the force of the blow, then turned to hiss angrily in the direction from which the stone had come. I scrambled backwards into the relative safety of the nearby bushes, and watched as another rock sailed through the air towards her. But this time, she was ready for it, and, despite the bleeding wound on the side of her head, easily dodged the projectile. After narrowly escaping a third stone, she scampered off into the forest like a frightened rabbit.

I waited a minute or two, to ensure that no stones would come flying at me if I approached, and then stepped across the small clearing to investigate the flying rocks. What I found shocked me to the core: Davenport was crouched behind a tree, wielding a slingshot, with a pile of rocks next to him.

"Davenport?" I said, astonished. "You shot the KC Undercover girl?"

"Yes, unless there's an invisible person with a slingshot somewhere around here," he replied sarcastically.

"Why would you do that?" I questioned angrily.

"She was standing over you with a knife to your throat, I assumed she was trying to kill you. You're welcome."

"I was just about to get her to open up about why she was on a killing spree, but then you attacked her."

"Well I apologize for saving your life."

"Why would you care if she killed me? I'm not exactly a valuable ally to you, this is more of a one-sided partnership."

"That's not true, any ally is a valuable ally, unless he or she is totally incompetent."

"She could have turned on you," I said, "What would you have done if she'd run at you?"

"I would try my best to fight her off. I hit her right in the side of the head, that's not exactly a minor injury she's now tending to."

"Even with a head injury, she'd still probably kill you if she had the chance. You were really willing to sacrifice yourself for me?"

"Yeah, that's what allies do."

Any doubts that I had about Davenport's loyalty instantly fled as quickly as the KC girl had, there was no way that he would turn on me after what he just did. And I felt too indebted to ever turn on him, no matter the situation. The simple action of launching a rock at my assailant's head had turned our weak bond into an inseparable knot, and I vowed not to let anything Disney threw at us untie that knot.

"She's the one who killed the other two competitors," I said meekly.

"I know," replied Davenport. "I saw her sleeve."

"She'll come after us. You or I could easily be next."

"We won't let that happen," he assured. "We'll take watch shifts, booby-trap the entire perimeter of the camp, we'll do whatever it takes to keep attackers out. But if it's going to work, we will have to have complete faith in each other. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I answered without second thought. "After what you just did when you thought I was in danger, I'd have to be crazy not to trust you. Do you trust me?"

He took longer to answer than I had, but after a minute or two, he responded, "Yes, I trust you."

"Good."

"We'd better get going. Leaving the camp unattended for a long time isn't very smart."

"You're right, let's go. You know the way back, right?"

"Of course I know the way back, it's my camp."

He did, in fact, know the way back, and we returned to camp in just over ten minutes. Fortunately, nobody had ransacked our camp while we'd been away. Davenport returned to his tweaking of the shelter, and I stacked some more logs onto the fire. I sat by the flames and thought about what had occurred in the past hour. If I hadn't been so ignorant as to forget which direction I had been walking, none of this would have happened.

"Davenport, I'm sorry I got lost. My stupidity put both of us in danger," I apologized glumly.

"Hey, don't be sorry. Because of you, we subdued the greatest competitor in the entire Games. If it weren't for you, she'd still be at large, and she'd have a much better chance of ambushing us, and, with that, a much greater chance of succeeding in killing both of us. Because you were alone and lost, that provided an opportunity for me to attack her. If I'd been with you, we'd both be dead. So think of it like that, and stop feeling bad. We have more important things to worry about than almost dying. We need to come up with a way to win."

"You're right," I sighed. Surviving the future was much more important than dwelling on the past. "What's our next step?"

"Well, for starters, we can make this shelter larger. I don't know about you, but this situation is not quite desperate enough for us to sleep this close together."

"Agreed." I rose from my spot in front of the fire, and joined Davenport over by the wooded structure. "What do you want me to do?"

"You could gather some more material from around here. But do both of us a favor and stay within sight of the camp. Getting lost once in a day is plenty."

"You've got that right," I chuckled, and, for the first time since I had been chosen for the Games, I genuinely laughed. Entering the forest around camp, I felt true joy for the first time in a year. In that moment, I realized that Disney could tyrannize us, he could put us in jail for rebelling, he could intimidate us with his goons and his Games, but he couldn't take away our human nature. No matter how hard he tried to bully us into hollow shells of people like himself, he couldn't break us. No matter how desolate our world became, how many rights we were denied, how low we were forced to bow to him, we would keep fighting.

If I could laugh in the middle of unknown forest surrounded by people who were all trying to kill me, I could laugh in Disney's face and prove to him that I was more than just annoying scum on the bottom of his shoe. He couldn't control me, he couldn't control any of us, certainly not if we all rose together. Disney was one person with a thousand goons who were just in it for the money, but we were a people oppressed, a people intimidated and beaten into submission, victims of sorrow and despair, and if we channeled a year's worth of pent-up rage towards Disney, he could only hope we had more mercy than he did.

 **I guess I'm pretty proud of that chapter, it had some nice character bonding and finished with an inspiring monologue thing. What did you guys think? I love hearing what you have to say, so please review!**


	9. Stranded

**Happy Halloween guys! I thought I'd give you another chapter to celebrate! Enjoy!**

 **Crescent Moon Dancer: Thank you, I tried to keep him as in character as possible!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Wow, I never really thought of it that way. But I can say that this alliance between our narrator and Davenport is a big part of the story. I'm so glad you like this story so much! Thanks!**

 **Dirtkid123: Yes, Davenport being a hero, who doesn't love that?**

Chapter 8: Stranded

I awoke to the haunting bugle call that signaled another death in the arena. I glanced to my right at Davenport, who must have been a very deep sleeper, since he'd barely even stirred at the noise.

"Davenport," I called, gently shaking him awake.

"Adam, no, you can't have a purple pony named Blue," he murmured sleepily before opening his eyes.

"What did you say?" I asked confusedly.

"Nothing," he replied. "Why did you wake me?"

"Somebody else just died, they played the bugle call."

"Well that's too bad. Who do you think it was?"

"I don't know. Do you think KC girl could have died from the head wound you gave her yesterday?"

"I'm not sure. If she didn't find a way to stop the bleeding, it's quite probable that she bled out, but I think she's too resourceful for that to happen. If anything's going to kill her, my money's on infection."

"Then who could it be? And who was the killer?"

"I have no idea, but it's not really important right now. We need to start formulating a plan of offense. We can't expect everybody else to kill each other while we sit and watch, we need to take action."

As reluctant as I was to start planning people's deaths, I knew that Davenport was right. This was not a game for the weak and timid; if we stood any chance of winning, we would have to do something besides sit and wait. So, despite my scruples screaming at me to do otherwise, I asked Davenport, "Who should we target first?"

"That question is a bit difficult to answer," he replied. "First of all, we're not one hundred percent sure who's still alive, or where they are. Secondly, it would be extremely difficult to single out one person to attack, since I'm positive you wouldn't be comfortable with going up to a person and killing him or her, we're going to be using some sort of snare-type attack strategy.

"Correct, I would prefer not to have to watch a person die, but how do we rig a trap powerful enough to kill a human?"

"I have a few ideas that might work, but we don't have the materials to accomplish them. You don't happen to know where I could find a large knife, do you? I need something bigger than your pocketknife, and shaped differently than the machete."

"The only knife like that I've seen out here belongs to KC Undercover girl, and I don't think she'd be too pleased if we took it from her."

"Darn. I'd need a knife to use as a projectile. The only other trap I can think of would be a noose, or a log, but neither of those would work. We don't have the manpower to move a log big enough to kill a person, and people are too smart to just walk into a noose."

"But couldn't we put a noose on the ground and camouflage it?"

"No, then it wouldn't be fatal. If the person stepped in it, they'd just be left hanging upside down by their ankle, which would mean one of us would have to go up to the trap and kill them."

"Maybe we could find another person with a knife that's willing to be our ally," I suggested. Knowing Disney, he wouldn't just put one knife in the arena. The more knives available, the more bloodshed he could have the pleasure of witnessing.

"In theory, that's a great idea, but in practice, I'm afraid it leaves too much to chance. It's not like some knife-wielding person is just going to come barreling this direction and beg to join our alliance."

I knew he was right, but a part of me kept hoping that it would happen. As I sat pondering what to do next, I kept glancing up in hopes that someone would actually show up and join us.

A brainstorming session nearly an hour long yielded no viable ideas; since they were all either way too complex to execute without access to proper materials, or required one of us to physically approach a person and beat him or her to death. Even if we were in a ruthless competition to the death, neither of us was willing to stoop so low as to literally beat the life out of another person.

"We should take a break," I suggested. "I'm starving, and I can't think on an empty stomach."

"Agreed," Davenport replied, the frustration in his voice evident.

We left the shelter and grabbed strips of meat from beside the fire pit. We'd been rationing them between ourselves since the second day of the Games, when we forged our alliance, and there was just a pitiful pile of four thin strips remaining. Our water supply had been replenished by the stream a half-mile away three times already, since we made sure to keep properly hydrated with all the physical exertion. I was so fortunate to have met someone who was able to start and maintain a fire, since my attempts at making my own had been worthless.

"We should restock on food," I said, gesturing towards the now empty meat tray. "Where did you catch this?"

"I set a few traps by the river and in that general area. Most of them are probably still set, we should check them. While we're at it, we should look for edible plants, since our first endeavor to do so didn't go quite as we expected."

Making sure not to forget which direction the camp was in, we headed down towards the river to check the traps. Along the way, I identified some wild blackberries, chives, and common violets that I knew for certain could be safely eaten. Davenport and I filled up every container available with water from the stream, and set off in search of his traps. I kept an eye out for anything unusual in the surrounding woods, but aside from the occasional squirrel scurrying up a tree, nothing caught my eye.

"Are you sure you remember where you put these traps?" I asked nervously. The last thing I needed was to get lost again, or to find out that someone or something had taken our possible food sources.

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't doubt me," he insisted.

Another five minutes of walking, and we finally stumbled upon a snare that had been set up by a well-trodden spot near the stream. Sadly, it had been triggered, but whatever set it off had escaped. A quarter mile downstream, we found another trap, but this one had been untouched. Three more traps after those had the same results; either it hadn't been touched, or the animal that set it off had managed to wriggle away to safety.

"Don't give up hope," I said, attempting to encourage Davenport, whose appearance had become more and more desolate as we checked trap after trap with no payoff. "At least we still have the berries and leaves, so we won't starve to death."

This did nothing to cheer him up, and he continued stumbling along the riverbank, off to find the next trap. "There's only one more trap to check," he muttered. "If it doesn't have anything, we'll have to go without meat until we catch something."

I saw just ahead of me Davenport angrily kicking a stone, and knew the results couldn't be good. "Empty?" I asked him, already knowing what the response would be.

"Another escapee," he answered. That's six traps, all empty. I guess I just got lucky the first time."

"Getting lucky once is better than not getting lucky at all," I told him.

"You're right. Let's head back to camp and boil this water."

Just as Davenport turned around, I noticed something odd about the trap. The rope had been neatly severed, not what one would expect from a frantic animal clawing its way out. "Hey Davenport, come take another look at this," I insisted.

"What?"

"Look at how perfectly severed the rope is, it almost looks like someone used scissors on it," I pointed out.

"Yes! The animal didn't escape, it was cut free! Someone stole food from out trap!" he exclaimed.

"And whoever did it had a knife or some scissors!" I added excitedly. "If we can find who did this, we could use that to make our trap and start trying to win!"

"Step back, let's see if there are any tracks to follow."

I looked around the raided trap, but saw nothing indicative of a person walking. There wasn't even half a footprint to go on. I told Davenport of my findings, or lack thereof, "There's nothing here. Whoever it was is very light on their feet."

"That doesn't make any sense. This is a riverbank, the ground is very moist, even something as light as a chipmunk would leave a trail."

"Maybe whoever did it weighed less than a chipmunk."

"That's impossible, every human weighs more than a chipmunk. Are you crazy?"

"No, there was this guy in training, he was two-dimensional. He wouldn't leave any footprints."

"Now that I think about it, I did see a guy like that! Did he have green hair?"

"Yes! That's him! Maybe he's the one who stole from this trap!"

Before we could further investigate our realization, a British voice frantically shouted, "RUN!" from a couple hundred feet away. Not taking any chances, Davenport and I turned tail and ran as fast as we possibly could back to camp. Instead of following the riverbank, we took the more direct route through the undergrowth. As thorn bushes tore at my ankles, and my chest heaved with exhaustion, I took the risk of glancing back at what was chasing us. Behind us was none other than the two-dimensional, green-haired guy that we suspected of stealing from out traps, and, behind him, the dog I'd seen in training.

"Davenport!" I panted. "Climb a tree! It's a dog that's chasing us!"

He grabbed hold of the closest branch that he could reach and yanked himself up. He extended a hand to help me up onto the same branch, and together we climbed higher and higher until the branches became so thin that they wouldn't support our weight. It wasn't until I saw the guy and the dog streak by below us that I felt guilty for not staying behind to help him into the tree. He had shouted to warn us that the dog was coming, so he couldn't possibly have malicious intents.

I looked in the direction they had ran to see that he had turned around and was coming back out way, the dog still hot on his heels. I knew immediately what I had to do, and began descending the tree.

"What the heck are you doing?!" Davenport questioned. "You can't climb down, you could be killed!"

"I'm going to help him," I explained. "He helped us, the least I can do is help him too."

I reached the lowest branch on the tree, and extended a hand down in his path. He came running at me, and grabbed my hand with his flat fingers. It felt like I was gripping cardboard as I pulled him up into the tree with me, out of reach of the dog's snapping jaws. Luckily, my hunch about him not being heavy enough to leave footprints had been correct, and it took almost no effort to lift him out of harm's way. The dog viciously barked at us as we ascended the tree back to where Davenport perched, but, thankfully, it couldn't climb, and remained at the base of the tree.

"Are you okay?" I asked the person, who was sitting on a branch and shivering with fear. He slightly nodded, but didn't say a word.

"Why was that dog after you?" Davenport asked. "Did you take something from it or something?

In response, he pulled a dead squirrel out of his backpack, which caused the dog below to bark even louder and more threateningly.  
"Where'd you get that squirrel? Did you pull it out of a trap?" Davenport questioned, the accusing tone in his voice all too evident.

"Davenport," I reprimanded. "He's almost been killed by a dog, lay off."

"Where'd the dog come from anyway? Is he actually from one of the sectors?"

"I think so. I heard that it's called 'Dog with a Blog' or something, but that's not important right now. Are you sure you're okay?" I asked the boy again.

He nodded again, but I still wasn't convinced.

"Is he mute?" Davenport asked.

"I don't know, maybe? What's your name, can you tell us that?" I questioned.

The boy turned his misshapen eyes to me, and answered, "Ferb."

"And can you tell us exactly how the dog started chasing you?"

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began telling us about how he had stumbled upon a dead squirrel in a noose, and had cut it loose with his knife, when the dog had come after him, presumably because it had wanted the squirrel. He'd run away from the dog for a while, changing direction to make sure he didn't get lost, and then he'd seen us. He yelled for us to get out of the way, in case the dog diverted its attention from him and attacked us instead. He saw that we had climbed a tree, and circled back in hopes that we would rescue him.

"Well, that's an interesting tale. You're safe now, so don't worry," I assured, even though I was anything but certain that we were safe. The dog had ceased its barking, but was now standing sentry at the base of the tree, blocking our only escape route.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Davenport asked. I don't know about you two, but there's no way I'm climbing down this tree with that dog still standing there. And I'm also not going to leap from tree to tree like a squirrel, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Oh calm down, the dog can't stay there forever. He'll have to go find food or water at some point, and then we can come down."

But Ferb pointed out that the stream was not that far away, and we would run out of water before the dog did, and it was as he lifted his flat arm to point in the direction of the stream that I noticed the little circle on his arm bearing the picture of the Latina girl.

Ferb was a killer.

 **Yay! Cliffhanger! I just love those. What do you guys think is going to happen next? What do you think Ferb did before? Any educated guesses or wild theories are welcome in a review. I'll try to post next chapter within a week or two, but no promises.**


	10. The Wrath of Fido

**I'll bet you're all anxious to find out how this goes, aren't you? Well, I won't keep you waiting too long, but first, review replies:**

 **Crescent Moon Dancer: Read on to find out! I made sure not to wait three weeks to post this chapter, you're welcome**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Well, plot twists are always enjoyable. I'm glad you liked it, and hopefully you'll like this chapter just as much! As for choosing the narrator, I randomly drew a name from each of the 12 shows and picked which one of those would work best with what I had in mind for the plot. Thanks again!  
**

 **Dirtkid123: Maybe...**

Chapter 9: The Wrath of Fido

Ferb was a killer. I simply couldn't believe it. The same guy I had just saved from certain doom was a killer. I would have bet money that the bugle call yesterday had come from KC Undercover girl on a rampage, but apparently, I was mistaken.

"What's the matter with you?" Davenport asked me, noticing me blankly staring at the badge on Ferb's arm.

"He-he k-killed someone," I stuttered, pointing at Ferb.

"What?" he shouted in disbelief. "This guy?"

"Uh-huh," I muttered. "Ferb, you killed someone?"

He nodded his weirdly-shaped head slowly.

"W-why?" I asked.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but then closed it.

"Tell us," Davenport insisted. "Until we come up with a plan, we're stuck in this tree, so you'd better fess up."

"Well..." he began hesitantly. "I was searching for food, and I had a knife with me for protection in case I was ambushed. I heard a noise behind me, which, due to the circumstances, startled me. I was so spooked, I reflexively turned around and threw the knife at the source of the noise. I didn't realize that-that there was a girl standing there, and-and I got her right in the heart."

He looked so lowly and ashamed of what he'd done that I found it impossible to be mad at him. "Oh Ferb," I said, giving him a gentle hug, "Don't be upset with yourself because of that. It was self defense, not an evil act."

This seemed to console him, and he perked up a little bit.

"I hate to ruin this lovely moment, but we're still stuck in a tree with no means of escape," Davenport pointed out.

Ferb, his conscience clear, suddenly grabbed my backpack and was rifling through its contents.

"Hey, give that back," I commanded, reaching for my pack. But Ferb pulled it out of my reach and continued searching through it. "What are you even looking for?" I asked, frustrated. He didn't say a word, but pulled a length of rope out of the backpack and began tying an end of it to his knife.

"Are you suggesting we tightrope walk out of here?" Davenport asked incredulously.

Ferb responded with a half nod, but Davenport wasn't buying it, "How on Earth do you suppose we do that?! They didn't exactly have a training station on circus performance!"

Ferb held up a single, flat finger that told Davenport to be quiet and wait, then stood up on the branch, knife in hand. He pointed to me, and then to the dog below, which was staring up at us, its head slightly cocked.

"You want me to distract it?" I asked, earning a nod in response. It seemed Ferb had exceeded his allotted word count for the day, and had ceased verbal communication entirely. "How am I supposed to do that? I don't exactly have a chew toy on hand."

He handed me the dead squirrel, and made a throwing gesture with his hand.

"You expect the dog to run after the squirrel?" Davenport questioned, prompting another nod from Ferb.

I held up the squirrel and prepared to launch it form the tree, as Ferb did the same with his knife, now firmly tied to the rope. He held up a hand, and counted down from three.

"Man I hope this works," I muttered to myself as three fingers became two, and one, and zero.

All hell broke loose as I lobbed the squirrel with all my might out into the woods. Ferb threw the knife into a nearby tree, where it stuck itself firmly into the bark. As the dog chased after the squirrel, which, sadly, had not flown very far from our tree. Ferb handed the other end of the rope to Davenport, and began monkey-climbing along the rope. When he reached the other side, he pulled the knife out of the bark, wrapped the rope around the other tree, and re-jabbed it deep into the tree. He beckoned for me to follow, leaving Davenport to hold the other end of the rope.

"Tie it tightly to a branch so you can climb over after," I told him as I grabbed a hold of the rope. Playing on the monkey bars at the playground as a child could not prepare me for the difficulty of this task. I eventually resorted to grabbing the rope with my feet and crawling along like a demented sloth. It felt like time had slowed down, the other tree never seemed to get any closer as I inched my way along.

"Hurry!" Davenport called from the other tree. "That squirrel won't keep him distracted forever!"

I increased my pace, and after what seemed like ages, climbed into the other tree. I moved to climb down the tree and return to camp, but Ferb stopped me. He nodded towards the dog, still hungrily devouring the squirrel, and I finally understood. We were going all the way back to camp through the trees so that the dog couldn't easily follow our scent trail.

"Davenport, move it!" I called across the gap.

"Are we going to leave the rope behind?" he asked. "Who's going to untie the rope from this side once I'm over there?"

"Good point. Ferb, you came up with this plan, what do we do?"

For a moment, he hesitated, as if he didn't know what to do, but, after a quick thought, he raced back along the rope to the other tree. He ushered Davenport along, and, once he was safely on my side, began untying the rope from the other side.

"What the heck is he doing?" Davenport questioned.

"I don't know, but I hope it works," I responded.

Ferb now had the loose end of the rope clutched in his two-dimensional hands, and he lifted his feet off the branch, allowing himself to swing across the gap.

"No, he can't do that!" Davenport exclaimed. "He doesn't have enough mass to make it!"

"What do we do?!"

"We pull him up."

Sure enough, once Ferb reached the base of the tree, the rope stopped swinging and he just hung there, inches from the ground, before Davenport hauled him up.

"That was stupid and reckless," Davenport scolded, while Ferb looked down at his feet in shame.

"Um, guys. I think he's finished the squirrel, but he's still hungry," I said quietly, gesturing to the dog, who was now stationed at the bottom of this tree, staring expectantly at us.

"Well that was a waste of energy," Davenport mumbled. "At this rate we'll go through all the squirrels in the forest, and the dog will just end up following us all the way to camp."

He was right, now that I thought about it, that plan would never have worked. It would take far too long to climb through the trees like that, and the dog would easily be able to follow us. I glanced down at the dog once again, only to find it engaged in an intense fight with a young boy.

"You might want to see this," I said, pointing to the skirmish below.

"What on Earth? Who is that?" Davenport asked.

"I don't know, but whoever it is just saved our lives."

The fight below intensified, as the boy landed a solid punch to the canine's muzzle. However, he wasn't going down that easily, and the dog lunged at the boy, grabbing his forearm in his powerful jaws. The boy cried out in agony as the dog's teeth sank into his flesh, causing spurts of blood to stain the dirt below. I watched on in horror as the dog shook its head, and a resounding crack split the air. I didn't think I would ever hear such a primitive and pain-filled sound come from a person ever again.

Still, the boy kept fighting, attempting to use his other arm to punch the dog in the face, but to no avail. Even from this height, I could see the life leaving the boy's eyes as his arm bled profusely in the dog's death hold. With a final shake of his head, the dog ripped the boy's forearm clean off, causing a fresh spurt of blood to erupt from the stump. I looked away in horror, for never had I seen such a gruesome sight.

I refused to look back at the boy for fear of what I might see, but it wasn't too long before the bugle call sounded. I dared a glance back at the ground, only to see the blood spatter on the ground, and the dog slowly dragging the body away into the forest.

"Well, that was graphic," Davenport uttered grimly.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I."

"Let's get out of here, this is freaking me out," I said, climbing down the tree. Davenport and Ferb followed, and together we trekked back to camp. Along the way, I pondered what I had just seen.

Who was that?

Why did he attack the dog?

Was he trying to save us, or was it just a coincidence?

But I decided to stop thinking about it when the mental image of the dog ripping strips of meat off of the boy and wolfing them down entered my head. Any childish dreams I'd ever had of getting a puppy vanished that day.

 **I apologize if that was graphic, but this story is rated T for a reason. It was also a pretty short chapter, but I decided not to drag it out. What did you guys think? Any guesses as to who the dog killed? What's going to happen next? I guess we'll wait and see!**


	11. Three's an Unstoppable Force

**Luckily, I haven't been busy and was able to write a lot over the past few days, which means you guys get another chapter! Hooray!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: I'm terrible at guessing too. Frankly, if I weren't the author of this story, I'd probably end up guessing some character that isn't even in one of the shows listed as a part of the story. As for Davenport, his fate is yet to be fulfilled... Thanks! Hopefully, seven days hasn't been long enough for you to go insane**

 **Dirtkid123: Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.**

 **Crescent Moon Dancer: That's how I felt while writing that chapter. I'm glad you like the story!**

Chapter 10: Three's an Unstoppable Force

After our nightmarish encounter with the dog, none of us expected to sleep very well that night. Ferb offered to take the first watch, so Davenport and I crawled into the shelter and attempted to rest.

The question of the boy's motives for running at the dog kept circling around in my head as I unsuccessfully tried to fall asleep. He was either suicidal and had decided to call it quits, overconfident and thought he could beat the dog in a fight, or heroic and had been trying to buy us time to escape. Whatever the reason, I pitied him. He couldn't have been much older than I am, and his family back home was surely devastated.

For what seemed like the umpteenth time in five minutes, I rolled over to find a more comfortable position, but to no avail. I was just too stressed over recent events and the gravity of this whole situation.

"You can't sleep either?" Davenport asked from across the shelter.

"Nope," I replied solemnly, turning to face him.

"Afraid the dog's going to come and find us?"

"Not really, I just feel really bad about what happened to that boy. He saved us by giving up his life."

"You don't know that he was trying to save us, he might not have even known we were there."

"I know, but it still feels like he sacrificed himself for us, and we don't even know his name."

"Well, it's in the past now. Whatever the reason, that boy prevented the dog from attacking us, which means we get to live and keep going in the competition. Now try to get some sleep, you'll need your energy for tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?" I questioned.

"We go on the offense," he answered.

~0~

After managing to get in three or four hours of sleep in between watch shifts and lying awake in thought, I woke up to see Davenport and Ferb hunched over a crudely-drawn map of the arena.

"What are you guys up to?" I asked, yawning as I spoke.

"We're devising a battle plan," Davenport said without looking up. "By combining my knowledge of the arena with Ferb's, we've managed to get a rough idea of the terrain throughout the area."

I looked over his shoulder at the map beneath them, which showed a small clearing where the starting place had been, surrounded by forest on three sides and mountains on the other. A small line was drawn where we were certain there was a stream, which continued in either direction as a dotted line where the stream ought to be. Over the approximate location of our camp, an X had been scrawled in the dirt.

"I've never seen those mountains, how do you know they're there?"

"Ferb says he went there shortly after the competition began to get a vantage point of the whole arena. The starting block is surrounded by trees on all other sides," Davenport explained.

"How do we know where the arena ends on each side? It can't stretch on forever in all directions," I pointed out.

"We don't know for sure how the boundaries are set. I've heard it might be as complicated as an electric force field, or as simple as a massive trench around the whole arena."

"So what's the plan? Are we just going to wander aimlessly until we bump into another competitor and take them out, or what?"

"That's what Ferb and I are working on. Wandering aimlessly doesn't seem like a very promising strategy, but we might have to resort to that if we can't come up with anything better. Do you have any idea where any of these people might be hiding?"

"No, I haven't seen anybody around except the dog and KC Undercover girl, and I don't know where they are now."

"We've been trying to use psychology to figure out exactly where these people have gone. How many are left again? 8 including us? Is that right?"

"Yes, four people have died, which leaves eight. Three of those are us, which leaves five possible targets," I said.

"Do you think a typical person would flee to the forest or the mountains?" he asked me.

"Probably the forest, since most people are more familiar with that type of environment as opposed to the mountains. It looks like it would provide more resources."

"Agreed. But they could still be anywhere, the forest around here just keep going and going. We're going to need to come up with some way to locate and track people. Any ideas?"

"You're the scientist, you think of something," I insisted, not wanting to be put on the spot. I wasn't exactly known for my problem-solving abilities in situations like these.

"We could try to pick up vibrations of footsteps through the ground, but we don't know how big the animals out here are and a deer could just as easily trigger a mechanism like that," he said, more to himself than anybody else. I noticed that Ferb, too, looked deep in thought. I watched in fascination as their facial expressions portrayed a series of epiphanies, followed by dejection as their science-oriented minds addressed all the flaws in the plan they had just formulated. Davenport looked like he was about to speak a few times, before catching himself as he realized it wouldn't work. Finally, after many hours of thinking, during which I paced aimlessly, bored out of my mind, Davenport shouted excitedly, "I've got it!"

"What? What's your plan?" I asked in anticipation.

"We dam the river!" he exclaimed.

"How does damming the river going to help?"

"If we cut off water to other areas in the arena, the other competitors will be forced to come this way to get water to survive, and we'll catch them when they do!"

"But what if the river isn't the only source of water in the arena? There could be another pond or stream on the other side that you haven't seen."

"That's where Ferb comes in. He's more familiar with the other side of the arena than we are, so, if he agrees, we'll send him out there to scout out other water sources and eliminate them," Davenport explained.

"Are you okay with that, Ferb?" I asked, earning nothing but a quick nod in response.

"What do you think, does it sound like it'll work?"

"Yeah, I guess it seems like a good plan. How are you planning to dam the river?" I questioned skeptically.

"Same way the beavers do it, with tree limbs and mud," he answered.

"Then what are we waiting for, let's get started," I encouraged.

"Okay. Ferb, pack yourself plenty of food and water for the trip. There's a freshly-boiled pot over by the fire and you can use one of your containers. How long do you think you'll be gone?" Davenport asked. Ferb held up two fingers in answer: two days at most.

"Two days? You'd better bring as much water as you can possibly carry," I said.

"He's got it under control," Davenport assured. "Pack everything you think you'll need and be on your way as soon as possible. We're going to get started on this dam."

After Ferb had scurried off to pack for his trip, Davenport and I walked around in search of a good tree from which to harvest wood for the dam. It didn't take long to find one that would provide suitable lumber.

"How exactly are we going to go about getting branches big enough to for the base of a dam?" I questioned. "We don't have a chainsaw or anything."

"We'll find a way," he assured. "Do we have any wire?"

"No, we don't just rope."

"An axe?"

"Just Ferb's knife, which I assume he'll be bringing with him when he leaves." The machete I'd had in my backpack had broken after I tried to use it to cut a thick branch to brace our new shelter, and there was no chance a pocketknife could cut through a branch.

"Enough manpower to break a branch?"

"Not even close," I responded solemnly.

"That's going to be a problem."

"Could we hijack a beaver?" I asked, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood with a bit of humor.

"No, beavers can't climb," he answered. Leave it to Davenport to ignore the joke and find a legitimate scientific flaw in the plan that wasn't even supposed to be seriously considered.

"Then what are we going to do?"

"I honestly don't know," he sighed despondently.

Ferb chose that moment to approach us to announce his departure. Well, not really announce. I'd recently deduced that Ferb didn't talk unless it was absolutely necessary, which was pretty annoying at times.

"Ferb, do you have any idea how we're going to cut down large branches?" Davenport asked. I'd also figured out that Ferb was a great engineer, so if anyone was to have an answer to this question, it was him. But instead of suggesting some ingenious plan that nobody would ever think of, he simply offered us his knife.

"No Ferb, you'll need that to defend yourself if you run into anything dangerous," I said. He simply shook his head at me, placed the knife in Davenport's hands, and dashed off through the trees to complete his mission.

"Ever get the feeling he knows something you don't?" Davenport asked me.

I sighed, "Only every second since we met him. Let's get to work."

"Okay, you take the knife and climb the tree, then chop the branch down while I try to dodge falling limbs," he instructed, handing me the knife.

"What? You want me to chop down a tree?"

"No, I want you to chop a branch off of a tree, let's hurry up and start or this dam will never get built. Not even someone of my genius can build a dam without any wood."

"Fine, but I just feel so guilty cutting off a tree's arm."

"It's us or the tree, you choose."

Reluctantly, I ascended the tree and found purchase on a branch near one that looked promising for a dam. "How's this one?" I shouted down to Davenport, who gave me a thumbs-up in return. I took the knife and began hacking at the base of the branch, which began to teeter precariously as I proceeded. "TIMBER!" I yelled as the limb tumbled through several layers of branches below me, and landed with a thunk on the ground.

"Nice! Go find another one!" Davenport said.

This process continued until there were barely any branches left on the tree, and I descended back to the ground.

"Is that enough? The river isn't that wide, and I don't want to hurt any more trees."

"Yes, this should work. Good job." We lashed the branches together with some rope and dragged the bundle to the river, where we set it down on the bank. Judging by the sun, we had maybe two hours maximum to build the dam if we wanted to finished by nightfall.

"How are we going to go about building this?" I asked. "I've never dammed a river before, and we're running out of daylight."

"We should start by cutting these branches to the right length to fit snugly between the two riverbanks," Davenport suggested. He took another spare rope and used it to measure the width of the river. From the parts of it I had seen, the river was maybe ten feet across at its widest and a foot and a half deep at most. Shallow enough to walk across, but I still preferred to just jump over it at the narrower sections to avoid getting my feet wet. After he finished, Davenport said, "We should build it right here, where it's not too far across. We'll chop the lumber to be a little over six feet long, and then jam it in."

"Okay," I agreed. When it came to building things, I had quickly learned that it was never a good idea to contradict Davenport. He got way too offended.

As we worked, I wondered how many people currently relied on this river for water further downstream. How many people were we planning to murder?

 **Well, there you have it. Sorry if that chapter was a bit of a filler, but I promise things will pick up soon. Don't have much more to say here except to read and review! See you next chapter!**


	12. The Watering Hole of Doom

**Dirtkid123: Well, we all know that can't happen. Sorry Disney characters.**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Thanks, I try to wrap up chapters nicely. Innocence trapped in a guilty world sounds really philosophical, so naturally, I have no idea what it means. The chapter was a bit of a filler, but sometimes they are necessary. Don't worry, there'll be plenty of action-filled chapters to come.**

 **Skoliver4Ever: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! I can't tell you everyone who is still alive, but the only ones you need to know are the narrator (I won't say from which show, it's a mystery), Davenport (Lab Rats), and Ferb (Phineas & Ferb). As to who's died, that's Joey (Liv & Maddie), Delia (I Didn't Do It), Trish (Austin & Ally), and the boy who was attacked by the dog (sorry, can't reveal his identity either). **

Chapter 11: The Watering Hole of Doom

By working nonstop until it was pitch dark outside, Davenport and I had reduced the flow of water to a few trickles leaking through the branches last night. We decided to leave it to get some sleep for the night. Even though we'd only spent one full day as a threesome, the camp felt incredibly lonely without Ferb. Maybe it was just the increased frequency of watch shifts without a third person to rotate, but his absence made a significant difference. I hoped he would return soon.

"Let's finish patching these holes in the dam," Davenport insisted, eager to get going on the day. I'd quickly learned that he was not one for sleeping in.

I slogged down to the river, my head still fuzzy from sleep, and began gathering handfuls of mud from the banks to clog the holes. It grossed me out, but it was the only effective method of stopping the water flow completely. By mid-morning, Davenport and I had plugged every hole and crevice of the dam with some repugnant mixture of water, dirt, and more dirt until not a teaspoon of water seeped through the dam.

"How long until the water from the rest of the stream clears out and all that's left is behind the dam?" I asked.

"There's no way to know. It could be hours, it could be a day or two. We'll just have to wait and see," he answered, already starting the trek back to camp.

"What do we do until then?"

"Do whatever you want, I don't care."

"Shouldn't we work out how we're going to kill the people that are forced to come here because we destroyed their water source?" As much as I loathed the idea, if we wanted out of here, we needed to rack up some hit points on the other competitors.

"You're right, I just didn't want to think about it. I say we should rig up a few traps, multiple different kinds. Maybe a few hog holes, or one that flings Ferb's knife at the person's heart."

"I don't have to be there to watch, right?"

"That's the whole point," he replied. He looked into my eyes and it felt like I could read his thoughts. He hated the notion of killing others as much as I did, but he was trying harder than I was to ignore it in order to accomplish our goal.

"We don't have to do this," I said. "We can just go into hiding and let everything work itself out. I'm sure they'll find ways to kill each other without us intervening."

"I hate to bread it to you, but you're wrong. We have to do something! We can't just leave everything to fate, it doesn't work like that! You can't just assume that the bad guys will eliminate each other! Besides, even if they do, that just leaves the two of us! What do you suppose we do then?!" he shouted, his eyes glistening with tears.

I'd never thought of it before, I'd been so busy surviving. Either Davenport or I would have to die before this was over. I wasn't sure which idea seemed more horrid, dying or having to live with the death of Davenport. He'd taken me in, let me eat his hard-earned food and drink his water for very little in return. My world would be a much more dismal place without him, but if he lived, my world wouldn't exist at all.

"Why did we have to be chosen for these darned Games anyway!" I screamed, kicking a rock at my feet, which bounced a few times before falling into the river with a satisfying plop.

"I don't know. I don't know why fate brought us here, or what caused Disney to come up with this idea in the first place, but it doesn't make any difference. We're stuck in this mess, and we're not going to give up the fight until one of us is out of it, do you hear me?"

I glanced up at him, tears streaming down my face, and nodded. We'd get nowhere if we succumbed to our fate now, and there was still plenty of fighting left to do before we were separated. "I hear you," I murmured, sniffling.

"Good. Let's go set up some traps upstream from the dam, where people will be forced to gather," he instructed, guiding me past the dam into the forest.

Davenport and I wandered into the forest, searching for a good spot to set up the first of many traps. He instructed me to begin digging a hold big enough for me to fit in, and handed me a crudely-made shovel from the handle of my broken machete. We took turns digging while the other one used Ferb's knife to sharpen big sticks to place in the dirt at the bottom of the hole. I shuddered at the thought of being the unfortunate person to stumble upon this and be impaled in this medieval trap. Hours blended together as the sun climbed higher in the sky, peaked, and began descending towards the western horizon. I lost track of how many shovelfuls of dirt I carried, how many blisters appeared on my palms, and how many wood shavings were in the pile at my feet. Finally, just as the sun was beginning to set, Davenport announced that the hole was deep enough for someone falling from ground level would be fatally impaled upon reaching the spikes at the bottom.

We spent the last half hour of daylight covering the hole with weak branches and leaves to disguise it among the undergrowth. By the time we finished, I was so overcome with lassitude I could have collapsed on the spot, but Davenport forced me to trek back to the shelter where I wasn't in danger of rolling into the trap we'd just created. Fortunately, since I was too embarrassed to admit that there was no way I could stay awake any longer, he offered to take the first watch shift. As soon as he said those words, I quickly thanked him and immediately fell asleep in the safety of the shelter.

~0~

"You stayed on watch all night?!" I reprimanded upon waking for the first time to see the sun rising, and realizing that Davenport hadn't woken me once to switch shifts.

"Yes," Davenport replied meekly.

"Why on Earth would you do that?!" I questioned angrily. It upset me that he sacrificed his well-being for me, since it made it seem like he was already preparing to die to allow me to go home.

"You were tired, I thought it would be nice to let you sleep. Is that a problem?"

"Yes, it is a problem! You were tired too! You shouldn't be so selfless all the time, this is a team effort! You're in this for us, not just for me. If we don't look out for ourselves as much as we do for each other, then we're both just going to end up martyrs and neither of us will ever get home."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I promise to be greedier next time, if that's what you want."

"I didn't ask you to be greedy, I asked you to be less selfless. Which I realize now is kind of the same thing, but that's not the point!" I snapped. "The point is, can you find a happy balance between taking care of me and yourself? I don't want to be the priority of anybody but me in a situation like this, okay?"

"All right. Let's go check out the river and see if our dam worked," he suggested.

I clambered out of the shelter and followed him down to the river to see the result of our toils. The devastation was even more than I expected it to be; the entirety of the stream past our dam was bone dry, not a puddle of water remained. I reached down to touch the soil, and it wasn't even damp. "This can't be right, can it?" I asked Davenport.

"What's the matter?"

"This area isn't even wet anymore, but how can that be possible if it was full of water just yesterday and it must have drained overnight before the sun was out?"

"You're right, that shouldn't have happened. Maybe Disney approves of our plan and decided to give it a little boost," he said.

"He probably sees this as the beginning of a timeline that ends in some serious carnage for his viewing pleasure."

"The sadist," Davenport muttered under his breath.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, wanting to distract him from whatever angry, rebellious thoughts he currently brewing.

"I guess we wait for Ferb to report back on the destruction of alternate water sources. But if this riverbed is anything to go by, I'll bet Disney took it upon himself to handle any ponds or streams that Ferb neglected. We've only set one trap, we should go ahead and make more of those while we wait."

As much as I despised the idea of returning to digging in the dirt under the hot sun, I went with Davenport back upstream to set more traps. But, just in case there was another way, I asked him, "Is there another type of trap we can try besides a hog hole?"

"I guess I could figure something out. I mean, if anybody can find a way, it's me," he gloated. If anybody could turn setting traps into a cause of pride, it was Davenport. I quietly sighed with a combination of laughter and joy at the fact he's retained so much personality despite the circumstances. I also pitied whoever he lived with back home for having to put up with such an ego.

After five minutes of thought, he exclaimed, "Got it!" and proceeded pacing back and forth muttering to himself.

"What is it? What's your idea?" I questioned curiously.

"What's a surefire way to die out here in the wilderness?" he asked me.

"I don't know, die of thirst or something. If I were to list them all, we'd be here all day."

"No, but what's one of the first things they taught you about wilderness survival."

"Don't eat anything that you're not positive is safe?" I tried.

"Exactly. Eating something poisonous is a death sentence without medical attention."

"But we can't set up a trap that force feeds people poisonous plants, can we?"

"No, we can't, we don't have time for a physical trap. But what about a psychological trap?"

"What do you mean? We hypnotize them into eating poison? That doesn't seem very logical."

"What if they didn't know it was poison? Then they would probably eat it without question."

"I don't follow," I said, hopelessly confused as to what he was thinking.

"What if we set it up to look like they were safe plants? We could set up a mini camp, and make it look like we were eating and left suddenly for whatever reason. Anyone who stumbled upon our seemingly abandoned camp would be tempted to steal food from us. But, the food that we lay out would actually be poisonous, but it will seem harmless! It's practically foolproof!"

"Oh, that makes so much sense! Let's get started right away," I exclaimed excitedly. "I'll go find some plants that I know are poisonous, and you start setting up a little camp!"

I set off into the nearby woods in search of some nasty plants to set the trap. Over the next few minutes, my morality and I were locked in an intense head-to-head battle for control:

You can't do this, it's a cruel trick!

I have to, it's the only way!

Think of all the innocent people this will kill.

They're not innocent, they're all out to kill me! This is for survival!

But killing them in this manner, it's not right. It's sneaky and underhanded.

How else do you suppose I do this? There is no other way!

There's always another way, a better way.

Except in this case. All but one of us is going to die anyway, it doesn't make a difference how.

How would you like to go down? Thinking you're safe, only to eat death? It's less cruel to just stab them in the back.

I could never do that, it feels wrong!

But this feels right?

Well, no, but at least I don't have to watch people die!

Is there really a difference between watching people die, and knowing for a fact that you brought about their demise?

I guess not, but in my head, this feels better.

Does it really?

Yes! Really!

Okay, go ahead and be a killer. See you on the other side.

Eventually, I was able to convince myself that I was doing the right thing, but not without second thoughts. As I continued my search for deadly plants, I did wonder how many people would end up dying as a result of Davenport and my traps. How many would succumb to this watering hole of doom.

 **So, there you have it. They've drained the river, and set the traps. What'd you think? What's going to happen next? Here's a bit of foreshadowing: next chapter is called 'Davenport's First Kill'. Until then, please read and review!**


	13. Davenport's First Kill

**MrMuddyPaws: Same here, I'd just curl up and hope someone killed me quickly. You're welcome! I've been trying to give subtle hints as to who the narrator is, but they're probably too subtle and nobody picks up on them. You'll know for sure eventually.**

 **Dirtkid123: Well, in the Disney Games, killing is everyone's job.**

 **Melon-Lord-of-Fire: I can't say who Stan killed, but you should be able to figure it out eventually. I kinds forgot whether I put it in any of the coming chapters. As for volunteering as tribute, I have a backstory for that, which you'll see later. I agree, he would totally take their place if given the chance.**

 **Skoliver4Ever: I hope this is fast enough for you! I'm trying my best!**

Chapter 12: Davenport's First Kill

The next day, Ferb returned from his endeavor and confirmed that all alternate sources of water had been destroyed. Davenport and I told him about the traps we'd set, and the success of damming the river. He approved of our abandoned-camp-of-death idea, and looked almost upset that he hadn't come up with the idea himself. It was difficult to tell, since he hardly ever spoke.

"How long do you think it'll take for people to realize the only water source is here?" I asked Davenport.

"I don't know," he replied. "It depends entirely on how much they had stored, and how far away they are. It could take a day or two for people to start showing up, and even then, there's no telling how many will fall into a trap."

"And until then, we do what?" I questioned. That seemed to be something I asked quite often, the Games had a lot more waiting around than I expected them to.

"There's nothing more to do except listen for bugle call and keep ourselves alive. Ferb, did you happen to bring back any food?" Ferb responded by pulling a dead groundhog out of his backpack. I suddenly wondered how he avoided falling over backwards while wearing a backpack, but decided it would probably be rude to ask.

"Fantastic!" I exclaimed. I hadn't eaten in a while, since all the plants I'd gathered were poisonous, leaving little opportunity for snacking.

"Ferb, why don't you go ahead and skin it, and then set it up to cook. We'll go look for some wild herbs to spice it up a little bit," Davenport instructed. He nodded in reply, then proceeded to peel the fur off of the carcass. I followed Davenport into the woods to look for wild herbs.

"Why do we need to spice it up? We haven't eaten in so long, flavor almost won't matter," I complained. I'd spent all yesterday combing through the undergrowth in search of specific plants, and was none too keen to do it again.

"We succeeded in our plan to win, this is worthy of celebration! Plain cooked groundhog just won't do."

I reluctantly searched for good spices alongside Davenport, but my heart just wasn't in it. Boredom was not an issue that I had expected to face in the Games, but it was really bringing me down.

"I'm bored," I whined, releasing a thin branch of a tree to spring back into place.

"Stop complaining, better bored than dead," he retorted. I realized that he was right, I'd much rather be here with nothing to do than not be here at all. But, I decided to leave him to find herbs himself, we really didn't need two people on that job.

"I'm going to look for some other stuff, if that's okay with you," I said, heading off into another area of forest.

"Don't do anything stupid," he warned.

"I won't," I called back. I traipsed through the forest, scanning the ground for anything of use. I had something in mind that would hopefully lighten everyone's spirits, and bring us closer together as a team. After scrutinizing the forest floor for nearly an hour, gathering various trinkets, I returned to camp with the haul. I grabbed a thin stick, and sat down in front of a small clearing in the grass, and began to draw in the dirt. I scored line after line, eventually connecting them all in a crude but legible board-game-like structure. Ferb walked over and gave me a quizzical expression, but then returned to tend the cooking meat without question.

"What the heck is this?" Davenport questioned upon returning to camp with a load of spices clenched in his hand.

"It's a board game," I replied, trying not to take offense at his mocking tone.

"What would we need a board game for?"

"To play, duh."

"We don't have time to play, there's work to be done!"

"Well you had the time to look for non-essential spices for meat that would be perfectly good without them, so I had time to set up a non-essential board game that will only make this celebration of a job well done more fun," I responded curtly.

"I guess you're right," he sighed. "I guess we can play while we eat. Ferb, how's it cooking?"

Ferb answered with a thumbs-up and carried the strips of meat over for Davenport to season them. I explained the concept of my game to them, it wasn't very complicated, but it didn't need to be. Just the notion of playing a game in this situation was enough to lighten the somber mood, and I noticed tension in their shoulders melt away as we got ready to play.

"I guess I'll be the acorn," Davenport said, grabbing it from the small pile of nature knick-knacks I had collected. Ferb took the pebble with moss growing on the side, leaving me to play as a miniature pine cone.

"Okay, there's really nothing to it," I explained. "You just throw this stick up in the air, and see which number on this spinner," I pointed to a sketched spinner in the dirt with numbers one through four, "the pointed end of the stick is indicating, and move that number of spaces."

"That's it?" Davenport asked.

"I don't exactly have the resources to make it any more complicated than this, Davenport," I defended. "Not everybody can be as much of a genius as you claim to be."

"Hey, I don't just claim it, I prove it with my genuine intelligence. We can make it more fun by adding obstacles, like this," he said, and dug the dirt out of one of the spaces drawn in the soil. "There. Now, if you land on that space, you have to go back to start."

"Okay, that works. Let's start playing."

For the next hour, we just played the stupid little game over and over again, each time adding a new challenge space, each more ridiculous than the last. We talked and laughed at our own frivolous ideas, such as the space with the berry on it that required you to attempt to catch a berry in your mouth by throwing it. If you caught it, forward a space; if you didn't, backward two spaces. Ferb came up with the 'floodwater' space: if you landed on it, you got to pour enough water on another player's chip until it washed off to another space, but chance determined if the new space was forward or backward. It was the most fun I'd ever had playing a board game in my entire life, but that may have just been because it was surrounded in time with so many un-fun experiences that it seemed astronomically better by comparison. By the time our game was interrupted, we had at least twenty different challenge spaces, expanded the board to twice its original size, and had each racked up at least three victories. But sadly, all good things must come to an end, and this was no exception.

"What happens if the floodwater space washes you away to a space that occupied by another player?" I asked, as the trickling water forced the pine cone on top of Ferb's pebble.

"Let me consult the rule book," Davenport joked, pretending to leaf through pages of a thick book. even licking him fingertips in between. "Page 692, paragraph 5, clause 19 says that you push the third player's piece forward all the way to the end."

"That's bogus!" I exclaimed, attempting to stifle my laughter.

"It's right here in the book!" he replied, holding the imaginary book out for me to look at.

"I don't know what game you're playing, but it sure isn't the same one I am."

"I don't know what game I'm playing either," he laughed. "I don't think any of us know what game this is."

As we all dissolved into raucous, laughter, a haunting bugle call sounded in the distance.

"What was that?!" I asked nervously, immediately ceasing my laughter.

"Someone died," Davenport replied.

"Well I know that, but who? Was it one of our traps?"

"I don't know, most likely."

Just as he said that, a small box attached to a parachute drifted lazily down through the trees. I snatched it out of the air, and read the note attached to it.

"What does it say?" Davenport questioned urgently.

"Donald Davenport: Sector 11," I read, shakily handing him the package. He cautiously opened it, and his face contorted into one of utter shock and fear the second he caught a glimpse of its contents. "What? What is it?" I asked concernedly. He tilted the box towards me, and I'm sure I had the same look of terror upon seeing it.

Inside the box was a little circular badge with KC Undercover girl's face on it.

"W-What does it mean?" Davenport stuttered. In this moment, his genius seemed to be failing him.

"Davenport, it means you killed her."

"But-but that's not possible. I wasn't anywhere near her when the bugle call sounded! This can't be right! Take it back!" he shouted, chucking the box at the sky, only for it to fall right back down at his feet. I had no idea why the idea that he had killed her was upsetting Davenport so much.

"Davenport, why are you so upset? This is a good thing! Now we don't have to worry about her killing us," I assured, but Davenport wouldn't hear a word of it.

"How could I have killed her? She's not even around?"

"Davenport, you said it yourself when it happened: the head wound you gave her could kill her over time. That time is now," I said. There was no other possible explanation for Davenport receiving credit for her death, the trauma or infection from that hit to the head killed her.

"But I didn't kill her, I just provided a gateway for things to infect her! Disney, give this stupid badge to some bacteria, it's their fault!"

"Davenport, relax!" I urged. "Just don't wear the badge, I don't see why you have to."

"You're right, I just won't wear it. There is absolutely no reason for me to display this as a token of honor."

He threw the badge onto the ground and stomped on it for good measure. But, just as he did so, the box from which the badge had come started blinking rapidly.

"If badge is not applied in ten seconds, box will self destruct," a monotonous voice said.

"Nevermind, you do have to wear it!" I exclaimed, picking up the badge and thrusting it back into Davenport's hand.

"No, I refuse!" he insisted.

"Nine... Eight... Seven," the box counted.

"If you don't put it on, we're going to die! The box is a freaking bomb that's going to kill us if you don't put the badge on!"

"Six... Five... Four," it continued, the blinking of the box speeding up. Before he could move, I snatched the badge back from Davenport and slapped it onto his sleeve. The box stopped its countdown and went dim.

"What'd you do that for?" Davenport accused.

"Did you want to get us killed?"

He picked at the badge, and complained, "It's stuck! It won't come off!"

"Of course it won't come off, that would defeat the purpose of the exploding box."

"But I want it to come off!" he whined. His childlike behavior caught me off guard, he did not strike me as the type of person to throw tantrums.

"Davenport, there's nothing you can do about it. Just wear the stupid badge and try not to think about it," I said, and he finally agreed with a harrumph. I had no idea what made him so anxious about wearing the badge, but I decided not to probe him in this state, for fear he'd lash out at me. How quickly things had changed; just a minute or two ago we were laughing and joking like little kids, but now a sepulchral mood hung over the whole camp.

Suddenly, a horrible thought crossed my mind: if one of our traps killed someone, who would be forced to wear the badge? If it was Davenport, how would he react? If I wasn't around to force him to wear it, would he go so far as to allow the box to blow him up? I made a mental note to make sure to be near him at the next sound of a bugle call. Hopefully, things would go more smoothly next time.

 **A bit of a plot twist in there, I'll bet most of you expected Davenport's first kill to be a result of one of the traps. Or you all saw it coming. Regardless, that loose thread is now tied up. Why do you think he reacted so strongly to being forced to wear the badge? I love hearing guesses (plus, I might take some of your suggestions into account when the narrator actually finds out why). Did you like the bit of humor incorporated in the beginning? I decided to let the characters have one last laugh before things get even more intense. This is only the beginning, my friends. Until next chapter, please read and review!**


	14. The Trap Is Sprung

**Dirtkid123: Thanks! I really tried to make him react realistically.**

 **Melon-Lord-of-Fire: Yeah, that is a big part of the reason he's freaking out over this. Nice job on that deduction. Wow, I never expected this story to become anyone's favorite, but I'm so glad you like it!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Yep, moral battles are the worst. Especially ones like this. I threw in that plot twist-of-sorts as a reminder that nothing is forgotten in the Games and the smallest actions can have repercussions. As for the game, yeah, I was aiming for cute. Thanks again!**

 **Emerald Tulip: Thanks, I'm glad you like it! As for the volunteering, well, I'll explain that in later chapters.**

Chapter 13: The Trap Is Sprung

A full day passed before we found any evidence that other competitors had entered the area around the watering hole. That night, we'd seen KC Undercover girl's face projected into the night sky, and had learned that her name was simply KC, the person for which her sector was named.

Ferb and I had gone down to the river to fetch some water to boil, when he pointed out a set of footprints in the soft mud of the bank. By the spacing, I approximated the person's height to be somewhere between 5'8" and 6', but they were oddly shallow for someone of that height. Whoever it was had to be pretty scrawny to tread that lightly on soft ground.

"What are the odds he finds a trap?" I asked Ferb, not expecting a verbal answer. Of course, he responded by simply giving the 'so-so' gesture with his hand. "Great," I mumbled. If my calculations were correct, there were only 3 human competitors that were unaccounted for left in the contest. It was me, Davenport, Ferb, the dog, and three others, one of which was in the area. I tried to think back to training week and remember any mid-height, scrawny kids, but the only one that came to mind was the one with glasses from Sector 10, but I knew he was already dead. KC had killed him no less than ten seconds into the Games.

"Who do you think's going to get the badge if someone gets caught in a trap?" I questioned, earning a shrug from Ferb. I couldn't imagine speaking as little as he did, it must be so boring.

Returning to camp, I saw Davenport still picking at the badge on his sleeve. Whatever adhesive Disney put in those badges must have been really strong, because I've never seen someone try so hard to pull something off without success. "Davenport, it's no use," I said. "Even if you do manage to pull it off somehow, I'm afraid it'll blow up or something like the box almost did. I'd rather you not die at the hands of your own sleeve, so could you do me a favor and leave it alone?"

My worried tone seemed to do the trick, and he stopped pulling at it. KC's face stared back at me from his upper arm, and I noticed for the first time how pretty she was. I wondered what kind of life she had back at home, how many people were now mourning. Another wave of hatred for Disney welled up inside of me, and it was all I could do not to scream in frustration and anger right then and there.

"You find anything while you were out there?" Davenport asked.

"Yes, actually," I answered. "We found some footprints by the riverbank."

"Really? Do you have any idea whose they might be?"

"It's one of three humans that's left in the competition besides us, but that's about all I can tell you."

"Do you know which direction they were going?"

"I don't remember, but whoever it is is bound to run into one of our traps eventually, they're all over the place," I said.

"And if he's come here for the water, the others aren't far behind. This is now the only water in the arena. We're bound to catch somebody's attention, but the question is whether or not they'll fall for the fake camp," Davenport summarized.

"All that's left to do is sit back and wait."

"Great, more waiting. My favorite," Davenport grumbled. He subconsciously reached for his sleeve again, but I stopped him before he could resume picking at the badge.

"What's bothering you so much about that little thing, anyway?" I asked. "It's just a little circle of fabric."

"It's more than that, and you know it," he retorted.

"Okay, fine. It's not just a little circle of fabric, but I still don't see why it should bother you so much."

"It's not so much the badge itself as what it represents," he sighed. Sensing a deep emotional conversation approaching, I sat down in the dirt across from him. Ferb left and busied himself with putting the water on to boil.

"Why is this so upsetting? There has to be more to it."

"I don't want to talk about it," he insisted, abruptly standing up and stomping away from me.

"Well, that didn't accomplish anything," I thought to myself. I decided that whatever was eating him up about this whole death-badge business would surface eventually, the time just wasn't right. I hoped he could get over his sulkiness enough to continue in this competition, because I didn't know how I could survive without him. If I hadn't stumbled upon his camp on the second day of the Games, there was no doubt in my mind that I would already be dead. He had saved me, and I would forever be in his debt. To pay off that debt, I was determined to eventually help him get over this. If he didn't want to open up about whatever was bothering him about the badges, I would force it out of him.

But my plans to assuage Davenport's strife were put on hold when the bugle call sounded.

Immediately, Ferb came bounding over to make sure it wasn't me or Davenport. Judging by the parachute that was now falling through the air towards camp, whoever it was had found a trap. As the little box landed on the ground in front of me, I was shocked to find my own name on it. I guess my efforts in setting the trap had made more of an impact than Davenport's, because the kill was attributed to me. I opened the box to find the scrawny brown-haired boy from Sector 5 staring back at me.

Before the box could threaten to explode on me, I quickly slapped the circular patch of fabric onto my upper right arm. I could feel the two fabrics bind together, ensuring that I would bear this token for as long as I wore this shirt. A wardrobe change didn't seem like a viable option, so I was stuck with it for the remainder of the competition. Or the remainder of my life. Whichever ended first. My reaction to wearing the badge was nowhere near as severe as Davenport's, but I still felt a bit disgusted at the thought of wearing it to shout out to everyone who saw me, "Hey, I killed this guy!"

"What was the bugle call? You guys are both okay, right?" Davenport asked concernedly, emerging from the shelter, where he'd apparently been attempting an impromptu nap.

"We're fine, Davenport," I assured. When he laid eyes on the badge on my arm, he tensed up all over again. At least I was blamed for the boy's death, because I was certain Davenport couldn't handle any more blood on his hands.

"Wonder why it was you instead of me," he murmured quietly.

"I guess whatever I did in making the trap was more important than your part. You're not complaining, are you?"

"No, no. Absolutely not, just curious."

"We know at least one of our traps works."

"Yes, huge success," he muttered.

"How many of them do you think will work?" I asked.

"I don't know, it depends on the intelligence of the remaining competitors. Some of them might recognize the plants at the fake camps as poisonous."

"There're only three others left," I pointed out. "What are the odds they each find a trap?" I knew Davenport loved calculating things, and figuring this out would take his mind off the fact that we killed someone.

"There's no way to say, we don't know where they are, or how many resources they have."

"So, we just wait and see?"

"Pretty much."

"Great, I love waiting."

For the rest of the day, the three of us did nothing but mindlessly sulk around camp. We had plenty of food, no need to hunt or forage, plenty of water, no need to search, and the shelter had no visible weak links or spots needing improvement. Once again, boredom was a severe issue. Survival was as much a mind game as it was a physical one, and right now, we were all losing. The monotony of life in the wilderness was really getting to me, and it was a relief when the sun finally went down and my brain could give in to sleep.

Davenport had offered to take first watch, and neither Ferb nor I felt like arguing with him. I fell asleep almost immediately after lying down in the comfort of the shelter. Fortunately, I was not plagued with nightmares from the week's events, and I was actually able to get some peace. That was until Davenport woke me to investigate what Ferb saw by the river.

I estimated it was just after midnight, and Ferb dragged me and Davenport down to the river to check out some strange noise he'd heard. Upon looking at the stagnant water behind the dam, I didn't see much worth noting except for the fact that the water seemed to be swirling around a little bit.

"I don't see a problem," I yawned tiredly.

"Me neither," Davenport moaned. It wasn't until the gentle whirlpool motion of the water started to speed up that I became concerned.

"What's making it spin?" I asked worriedly.

"There's no current, so it's not a naturally-occurring whirlpool," Davenport said. The water continued to spin faster and faster until I thought I'd be sucked in all the way from the bank. The entire river churned violently, until I thought it couldn't possibly go any faster. Suddenly, with a blast as loud as a jet engine, the water shot into the air, a geyser two stories tall. I screamed and ran, Davenport right behind me. The water from the geyser spilled over the bank and raced along the ground after us. I couldn't make out Ferb in all the chaos, but I hoped he had made it to safety.

By now, water was spilling over the banks at a rate so rapid, Davenport and I could barely keep ahead of it. The entire arena was going to flood in a matter of minutes at this rate.

"Keep running!" I shouted at Davenport above the roar of the rushing water behind us.

"Don't need to tell me twice!" he yelled back, and sprinted along after me. Water lapped at our heels as we ran away as fast as we could possibly go. I had no idea where we were headed, but all I knew was we had to get away from the torrent behind us. The sound of the water was so loud, I almost didn't hear the bugle call.

"Who was that?!" I screamed.

"FERB!" Davenport cried, turning around and lunging back toward the rapidly-approaching water.

In my rush to escape, I had forgotten about Ferb. His weightless two-dimensional body must have gotten swept away in the rapids. He hadn't stood a chance. I grabbed Davenport's wrist and attempted to hold him back from charging into the roiling water. Even my entire weight was barely enough to keep him contained.

"Davenport, it's too late! We can't go back for him! We have to leave or we'll die too!" I insisted.

"We can't leave Ferb behind! Not after all he's done for us!" he shouted back, straining against my grip on his arm.

"Davenport, he's already dead! I'm sorry, there's nothing more we can do!"

As we stood, the water level continued to rise around us, and it was now well past my ankles. If I didn't get Davenport to leave soon, we'd both drown. "The water's going to catch up to us if we don't get out of here!"

"Then let it! We're doomed anyway!"

"That's not true! If we leave now, we can escape!" I said frantically. The water was now up to my waist, and rising continually. There was no way there was this much water in the river, Disney must have been supplying it with extra to flood the arena. During a brief break between his lunges towards the center of the rapids, I managed to yank Davenport in the right direction and drag him farther away from the water. It was so deep and moving so fast, I felt like I was trudging through syrup. It didn't help that Davenport refused to carry any of his own weight through the rapids, but at least he wasn't working against me. "Davenport, I can't carry you forever, you're going to have to run sooner or later! Preferably sooner if you want to survive!" I called behind me. My grip on his arm was slipping because of the constant spray of water, and I couldn't hold on to him much longer. I was afraid that if I let go, he would let the current carry him away.

Fortunately, he agreed to fend for himself and followed me towards shallower water. I risked a glance behind me, only to see a vast expanse of churning water as far as I could see. In front of me, the water level did go down, but more just kept pouring into the arena, and I doubted we'd ever find dry land at this rate. For every step I took into shallower water, the level rose, preventing any relief from the struggle to keep moving. We ran as fast as we possibly could in waist-deep water, but it just kept flooding. Hopelessness crept up on me, and I wondered if we'd ever find a way out of this, or just collapse from exhaustion and drown, to be swept away by the current.

But Disney must have calculated this for maximum struggling and misery; the water only chased us as much as we could run away from it. Had this been a normal flood, we would have been overtaken ages ago. After ten minutes of stumbling blindly forward, I could make out through the darkness the mountain looming in the distance. If we could reach the mountain, we might be able to climb out of reach of the raging water.

"Davenport!" I called. "Head for the mountain!"

I have no idea how we managed it, with how exhausted we already were from fleeing, but we made it to the mountain. Fueled by fear and adrenaline alone, we slogged through the water for ten minutes straight until we reached the base. I grabbed a handhold in the nearest ledge, and pulled myself up, and Davenport followed suit. Ledge after ledge, I climbed until my hands bled and my fingers felt like limp noodles. A few times I slipped and almost plummeted down the mountain into the water below, but Davenport was there to catch me. Eventually, we reached a large ledge, but there were no more handholds within reach that would allow us to continue our ascent.

"Can't... go... any... farther," Davenport panted in between coughs.

"Nowhere... else... to go... anyways," I replied. I managed to stay conscious long enough to see as water filled the entirety of the arena below, enough to completely cover some of the trees. The arena must have had sides like a force field, because otherwise the water level could never get this high. In fact, it continued to rise, to the point where I was concerned it would cover us even a third of the way up a mountain. Davenport and I watched in fear as the wall of water climbed up the mountainside. It came within twenty feet of our ledge, then ascended to ten feet, then close enough for me to reach out and touch it. I held my breath as it reached our ledge... and stopped.

I guess Disney had decided to keep us alive a little bit longer. Exhausted but relieved, I finally allowed myself to pass out on the ledge next to Davenport. We were safe, for now.

 **Wow, that was a lot of fun to write! I love action! I hope you guys love it too! But for all the critics out there (I know I'd be questioning it) who are wondering how the arena could flood like that, just remember that this is the future and Disney has lots of fancy tech stuff at his disposal, and probably used some of it to transform the arena into a flood zone. Anyway, I'd love to hear what you thought in a review! Just a heads-up, the next chapter is called The Trek and it will be split into two parts, because otherwise it would be ridiculously long and nobody wants that. See you then!**


	15. The Trek Part 1

**Whooo! I'm back! And I'm sure you're all dying to find out what happens next, so I won't keep you waiting too long. But first, of course, review replies:**

 **EmeraldTulip: Yeah, sorry about that, but some things are necessary to the plot.**

 **Dirtkid123: Sorry to say, but he's gone.**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Apologies, but some things needed to be done to keep the plot moving. To answer your question, if a competitor isn't killed by another person, then nothing happens, no badges are distributed because nobody is to blame.**

 **PicklePie: No promises... but I'll try to write a satisfactory ending.**

 **Skoliver4Ever: Joey (Liv & Maddie), Delia (I Didn't Do It), Trish (Austin & Ally), the boy from Sector 1 (sorry, can't reveal his identity), KC (KC Undercover), the boy from Sector 5 (sorry, can't reveal his identity either), and Ferb (Phineas and Ferb) are all dead. The ones left living that you need to know are the narrator and Davenport. Hope that helps!**

 **This chapter's a bit longer than previous chapters, but there's a bit of emotional family fluff stuff that I think will make the extra reading worth it.**

Chapter 14: The Trek Part 1

When you're exhausted enough to sleep deeply on sheet of lumpy rock, you know you've pushed yourself too hard. Waking up was misery because every one of my joints was on fire from the exertion yesterday. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the full extent of what Davenport and I had just done hit me like a truck at seventy miles an hour. It was all I could do to roll over to get a good look at the devastation behind the mountain.

Below our ledge on the mountainside, the arena was a vast expanse of nothingness. As far as I could see in all directions: nothing but placid water. Unless we planned on swimmingly indefinitely, there was no way out but up. The only viable escape route was to somehow find a way to continue ascending the mountain.

"Man, there's no way we're going back the way we came," Davenport remarked.

"You got that right," I responded. "So much for our plan to eliminate all the water from the arena with a dam."

"Disney helped us with that for a little bit, but he sure changes his mind quickly."

"At least there's no way we can die of thirst," I mentioned, trying to be optimistic.

"True," he said, scooping up some water from the side of the ledge. He brought it to his lips, took one sip, and immediately spit it back out.

"What's the matter?!" I questioned anxiously.

"Salt," he grumbled. "It's salt water."

"But the river wasn't salt water, how'd it change?"

"Disney must have dumped salt into it along with all the extra water. It's undrinkable now."

"What do we do? We don't have our packs, and if we don't have water, we'll only last two or three days at most."

"We have to find water. There's no other way. If I had my pack, I might be able to figure out some sort of desalination devise, but I have nothing to work with. We have no choice but to move on."

"But we can't, the next ledge is out of reach," I pointed out.

"We'll have to be creative."

"Creativity is not exactly my strong point."

"That's why you're super lucky to have me."

Man, could nothing crush this guy's ego? I thought, at this rate, on his deathbed, he'd be talking about nothing but how much the universe was going to miss out once he was gone. Then I remembered the likelihood that his deathbed would be somewhere in this arena, and I quickly pushed the thought away.

"We have nothing to build with, how are we supposed to get a height boost?"

"I can figure something out," he assured me. How long that would take, I had no idea, so I decided to try to use the abundance of water to clean up a bit. I removed my shoes and set them down, rolled up my pant legs, and walked over to the edge of the ledge. The cool water felt so good on my aching feet, it was like dipping them in fluffy clouds with a built-in massage feature. Upon closer inspection, I saw just how beat-up my feet and legs were from over a week of running away from stuff, lack of bathing, and struggling through thick undergrowth.

My ankles and calves were covered in tiny lacerations from thorn bushes that had penetrated my pants, and my toenails were in desperate need of a trim. Being crammed in soaking wet shoes all night had left them slimy and shriveled-looking. The water was still enough for me to see a blurry version of my reflection, but what I did see almost made me jump back in fear. My hair had too many knots to count, and my face was covered in so much dirt and grime from slaving away digging a hog hole that I looked as if I'd attempted to paint myself to blend in with a mud puddle. I'd probably lost nearly ten pounds from lack of food, and the fatigue from stress was showing in the dark circles under my eyes.

"Hey, you ready to ship out?" Davenport asked.

"You came up with a plan to get us out already?"

"Well, it may or may not work, depending on how strong we are, but I think we stand a good chance."

"So, tell me what we're going to do. I can't read your mind, you know," I retorted, putting my shoes back on.

"If you could read my mind, at least you'd never run out of reading material," he smirked. Geez, what would it take to get him to shut up?

"Whatever, just explain the plan."

"It's nothing fancy, anybody could have come up with it," he said.

"Okay, tell me about this non-fancy plan of yours."

"I'll give you a boost up, and you'll help pull me up from the next ledge," he explained.

"Really? That's your non-fancy plan? Giving me a boost?"

"Yep. Problem?"

"No, no problem. Let's get going."

I stepped up to the base of the eight-foot ledge and waited for Davenport to offer his assistance. He locked his hands together, and I stepped into place, reaching for the closest handhold as he gave me the extra height I needed. I managed to get a decent grip, and barely had the upper body strength to pull myself up. Once I had scrambled all the way up, I called back to Davenport to tell him I was clear. Now for the hard part: getting him up after me. I probably wouldn't be strong enough to pull him up all by myself, but there didn't seem to be any other option.

"How am I going to pull you up?" I asked Davenport. "I can't just lift you, I'm not strong enough for that."

"Can you at least try? I'll try to help you as much as I can by scrabbling for footholds."

"What if I drop you? You'd get seriously hurt falling to the ledge below us."

"We'll just have to take that risk."

I leaned over the side of the ledge and grabbed Davenport's outstretched hand. Finding purchase on the mountainside with my feet, I yanked with all my might as he tried to propel himself upwards. It was a terrifying moment: Davenport precariously hanging over the ledge by nothing more than my grip on his arm. It wasn't that far of a fall to the the ledge, but any further and he'd roll into the water. I strained against his weight pulling me over the ledge, and began to make progress. One pained footstep at a time, I dragged him far enough for him to grab onto the ledge with his own hand and pull himself up. Once he was secure, I let go of his arm and nearly collapsed with exhaustion.

"And you said there's no way you could do it," Davenport teased.

"Hey, you're lucky I was wrong, because if I'd been right, you'd still be down there," I retorted. I then glanced over the side of the ledge at the spot where we'd come from, and instantly regretted it. The ocean of floodwater had developed a sort of tide, which had washed something up onto the rock shelf below us. It was a dog, the very same dog that had killed the boy over five days ago. Despite all the terror he'd caused me, I couldn't help but feel bad for him.

"What's the matter?" Davenport asked curiously.

"Casualty," I muttered.

"Oh my," he said upon seeing the corpse below us. He then looked into my eyes with such sadness that it took all the willpower I had not to burst into tears and asked, "Do you think Ferb could end up here too?"

Davenport and Ferb had bonded closely over their mutual love of science and engineering, a friendship which I'd had no part in. Ferb's dislike of verbal communication had made it difficult for me to get close to him, but he and Davenport were both fluent in the unspoken language of genius. Davenport looked so vulnerable and pitiful in that moment, it was a challenge for me to get the words out. He'd just lost his best friend in the arena, and I didn't want to drag him away, but I had to keep our mission alive.

"Davenport," I sighed, "If you really want to, we can stay and see if he washes up, but we need to find water quickly, or you and I will die too.

I saw the conflict behind his empty, sorrowful gaze as he decided whether to be sentimental or practical, but he eventually agreed with me that we needed to keep moving. Fortunately, the ledge we were on continued in the direction we wanted to go, so we hauled ourselves to our feet and trudged onward. I desperately hoped that we would find water soon, as even before the sun reached its peak intensity, I could feel and intense thirst coming on. We were at serious risk for dehydration.

Hours passed with no change in scenery. Barren mountainside: no vegetation, no fauna, just rock and some more rock. What's that over there? Just a rock. The sheer plainness of it all was nearly enough to make me give up the fight. I almost hoped we'd run into something dangerous just for a change in routine. Afternoon progressed towards evening, but the summit still didn't appear any closer than it had when we started. It had to be nearer, right? At that point, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that we'd been walking in circles.

Eventually, we'd either succumb to thirst or starvation, if the sheer monotony of the trek up this mountain didn't kill us first.

"It's getting late," Davenport said. "We should take advantage of the next shelter we see, so we don't get stuck out here, exposed, for the night."

"What if we don't find any shelter at all before nightfall? It's been hours since we last saw any sort of cave or outcropping," I mentioned.

"Then we'll have no choice to curl up and hope for the best."

We continued on our way up, but by this time I'd become so accustomed to the rocky terrain that I didn't roll my ankles nearly as often despite the fading light. I wondered how tall this mountain really was, and if it could be high enough to give us altitude sickness. I hoped it wasn't that tall, another possible method of death was the last thing we needed in this situation.

"Hey, I found a cave!" Davenport announced proudly. "We're not going to find anything better before we lose light, so let's hunker down for the night."

Between my aching joints and mental exhaustion, I was all too happy to oblige. I crawled into the cave, which was maybe ten feet deep, which was hopefully deep enough to keep out the wind. I curled up in the deepest corner possible and tried to get comfortable. It was no five-star hotel, but I thought I'd most likely survive the night.

"How many more days of this before we reach the top?" I asked Davenport, who had lain down in the other back corner.

"By my calculations, we should be there by the morning after tomorrow."

"What do you think we'll find on the other side?"

"I don't know. If we're lucky, maybe it'll be a way out of here."

"You know that's not going to happen."

He sighed. A long, sorrowful sigh that made me want to hug him and take away whatever was bothering him. "I know. There're only two ways out, neither of which is very enticing."

"True. But we have to keep fighting until the end. One way or another."

"It's just so hard to keep going knowing you're either going to die or lose everything. I seriously considered giving up today, I didn't want to take another step towards death or eternal sorrow."

"Davenport, don't think about it like that. I'm not going to sugarcoat it and say you won't die, because it is very possible. But you won't lose everything if you win. You just have to find something, or someone, else to fight for. You have something back home to fight for, don't you?"

"Yes. I have Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo," he responded wistfully.

"Who are they?" I asked. He'd never told me anything about his life and family back home, and I was genuinely curious as to who these people were that he cared about so much.

"They're my kids," he answered, looking off into the distance as if viewing a movie on the cave wall, but I knew he was simply reminiscing over memories of them. "Adam, Bree, and Chase are mine, at least, that's what we say to simplify the matter, and Leo's my stepson."

"Do you want to talk about them?"

"Well, Adam's a goofball. He can't take anything seriously, probably because he barely understands anything, but he definitely lightens the mood in any situation. But when it really matters, the rest of the team and I can rely on him to be strong." He looked up at me like he was expecting a reaction, but upon receiving nothing more than a quizzical glance, he explained, "That's his bionic ability, he has super strength."

"Oh. In that case, nice pun."

"And Bree, she's got a mind of her own. If she wants something, she'll go and get it no matter what it takes. She once smashed her own bionic chip to get what she wanted. She also pretends to hate her brothers, but everyone can see that deep down she really loves them. Chase, too, hates his siblings most of the time, mainly because they always make fun of him for being a nerd, but honestly, they're not wrong."

"Davenport!" I gasped. "I can't believe you would say something like that about your own son!"

"You haven't met him. But his nerdiness defines him, since his bionic ability is intelligence. Despite the teases it earns him, he does like being the smartest person in the room. In fact, he can't stand it when he's not. As for Leo, he's just kinda desperate to be part of the group. He's not fully bionic, but he's gotten himself into enough trouble to need two limbs repaired with bionic components. He's always out to prove himself, and he usually fails miserably and messes things up, but his few successes have been glorious. I'm just so thankful it was my name they drew instead of one of theirs. I couldn't live with myself if any of them died, they've all come plenty close enough to it for my liking."

"Wow, it sounds like you've raised a couple of great kids," I said. From the short time I'd spent with him, there was no doubt in my mind that Davenport was a very loving father, and his kids were very lucky to have him. They had to put up with his inflated ego all the time, but with that came the benefits of a caregiver who truly cared about them.

"How about you? Who are you in this fight for?" he asked.

I pondered the question for a lot longer than I expected I would need to. Who was I fighting for? In reality, I was fighting for all of them, everyone I knew and loved back home, but it would be too painful for me to talk about them all. Some of them I just missed too much to even think of their names for fear it would bring me to tears. After much thought, I mustered the composure to mention one person:

"My dad. He's brought me this far in life, and it's the thought of him that's going to keep me going through the toughest moments of it."

"That's some deep filial love right there."

At that point, I was too overcome with tiredness to even ask him what filial meant, so I just shut my eyes and mumbled a good night. Across the cave, I heard Davenport's breathing gradually slow and eventually I, too, drifted off to sleep.

 **Yay! Deep family fluff and feelings and stuff! Since this story is in the Lab Rats category (even though it's a crossover, I put it there because the plot is probably most appealing to people who like that show), I'll bet many of you were waiting for mentions of the other characters. Well, there you have it! I hope you enjoyed Part 1 of the Trek, stay tuned for Part 2! Until then, please read and review!**


	16. The Trek Part 2

**EmeraldTulip: Thanks! I tried to make it as sweet/fluffy as possible. And yes, Stan is dead, along with Ferb. Sorry about that.**

 **Dirtkid123: I'm glad you loved it. Family fluff is always great. As for the narrator, the time is not yet right for me to tell you.**

 **Skoliver4Ever: I'm sorry to have to tell you that I can't reveal the narrator's identity yet. But, if you've been paying really close attention, it was revealed that she is a girl. As for everyone else, I'm sure you'll be able to piece it together eventually. But I promise at some point towards the end of the story, I'll tell you who was who and which sector was which.**

Chapter 15: The Trek Part 2

That morning, Davenport woke me at the crack of dawn. "Making good use of all the daylight we had," he claimed. I would have rather made good use of the comfort of the cave and get as much sleep as possible. I didn't know if it was just the altitude, or Disney fiddling with the arena to make it more difficult, but the climate had become steadily more miserable as we climbed. The wind had picked up, and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees.

It had been at least a day or two, frankly I'd lost track, since we'd had either food or water, and I was really starting to feel the weakening effects of that. My mouth was uncomfortably dry, and I had a headache that refused to let up. Hunger gnawed at my empty stomach, and I felt weaker than I'd ever felt the entire time in the arena. I could see from the bags under his eyes and constant edginess that Davenport felt the same.

Commiserating with Davenport made me realize how lucky I was to have an ally. If it weren't for him, I would surely be dead by now. Not only because he graciously shared his food and water, but because he provided the companionship which was so critical to wilderness survival. He gave me a reason to keep fighting. Had I been alone through this journey, I would probably curl up and hope I succumbed quickly to dehydration and hypothermia.

Just as that thought materialized, the bugle call sounded in the distance. Which left only one other competitor. One person left to die before Davenport or I had to perish. As if he'd just read my mind, Davenport said, "That means there's only one person left besides us."

"Yeah. If he dies, we're in trouble."

"Disney won't let that happen. He's out for a blood-fest, one of us will end up killing him. Then one of us will end up dying."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said, even though we both knew it had to come to that eventually.

"I wonder where whoever that was is, because nobody could survive on the side of the mountain we just came from," Davenport pointed out, gesturing to the perilous ocean beneath us. The water level came up to what I estimated was halfway up the mountain, and it filled the entirety of that side of the arena like a giant swimming pool of death.

"Hopefully, that means there's some survivable land on the other side of this mountain."

"All the more reason to keep going until we reach the summit."

We clambered onward and upward, footstep after painful footstep, still no usable resources in sight. The cold wind nipped at the inside of my nose every time I inhaled, giving me a desperate urge to sneeze. However, I needed whatever hydration I still had, meaning I couldn't afford to sneeze. The only thing keeping me going was knowing that every step (hopefully) brought me closer to water, and knowing that Davenport was suffering alongside me. If he could work through this, so could I.

By midday, my headache from dehydration and low blood sugar was so excruciating, I could barely keep my eyes open. The average human was supposed to be able to last up to three days without water. It had only been two, but the exertion of climbing a mountain was taking precious hours off of that time limit. Fortunately, the summit did seem to be getting steadily closer as we climbed.

"How long do you think it'll take to reach the top at this rate?" I asked Davenport.

"I think we can make it by tonight, if we don't encounter any drastic setbacks," he replied through gritted teeth. We had reached a difficult stretch of rock that required far more intense climbing than any area we'd encountered that day. The rock face was nearly vertical, but I managed to use whatever strength remained in my limbs to hoist myself over the ledge and continue up the path. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. If I focused all of my thoughts into that simple command, maybe I could forget my suffering and work through the pain. It seemed to work, and I trudged on after Davenport as we walked and climbed and walked and climbed all through the afternoon.

However, one thing kept nagging at the back of my mind despite efforts to ignore it. Even though we'd struggled the whole way up, it still seemed to easy. There'd been no avalanches, no impassable crevasses, nothing that suggested Disney was trying to make this difficult for us. He'd forced us to the mountain with the flood, but he hadn't put any unnatural obstacles in our way.

"Davenport, do you feel like this is almost too good to be true?"

"What? That we're starving and dehydrated, slugging our way up a mountain with an uncertain destination, all within an arena for Games in which twelve people enter, but only one comes out alive?"

"That's not what I meant. I meant the fact that Disney hasn't tried to hinder our progress up this mountain."

"Don't jinx it," Davenport muttered, just as I felt the first slight tremors in the rock beneath my feet. Pebbles began to slide down the rock face, followed by golf ball-sized rocks, then fist-sized. Before they could get any bigger, Davenport shouted, "AVALANCHE!"

We dove under the cover of a ledge that jutted out pretty far from the face of the mountain. I hoped it was firmly rooted and wouldn't come crashing down on top of us the second it got hit by a sizable boulder. Huddled beneath the outcropping, Davenport and I watched, terrified, as boulders the size of watermelons cascaded down the mountainside past us. The sound of hundreds of rocks thundering against the mountainside roared in my ears as I cowered beneath the ledge. Suddenly, a sound much louder than the rest of the cacophony registered in my brain. Thump. Thump. Thump. A much larger boulder hopping down the mountainside.

"Davenport, do you hear that?" I whispered, afraid that any loud noise would disturb the flow of rocks and cause one to hit us.

"Yes. It sound like a boulder. I'd guess it's at least six feet in diameter."

"If it hits this ledge, it'll break it off and we'll get squashed," I cried, tendrils of panic writhing around in my gut.

"Probably correct. But there's nothing we can do but hope it doesn't hit this ledge."

I bit the inside of my cheek in anticipation as the consistent thumps got louder. When one sounded as if it was no more than three feet away, I braced myself for getting crushed. I glanced outside as the massive boulder landed with a decisive thump, just below our ledge. It had missed us by no more than a yard. One slight change in the direction it had bounced and we would have been mincemeat.

"Phew," I sighed, as the thunderous roar of the avalanche died down. "We survived!"

"Yes, we did. Now let's get to the summit before anything like that can happen again," Davenport suggested. We crawled out form beneath the outcropping, and I saw that the geography of the mountainside had completely changed. Gone was the bumpy, uneven surface; it had been replaced by a path almost like a slide. The rocks falling down the mountain had knocked off bulges in the rock, leaving behind a pristine surface. We wouldn't have to climb over stuff any longer, but falling back down became a lot easier.

We chose to tackle the changed terrain army-crawl style, lying on our stomachs and using little handholds to pull ourselves up. It was exhausting, but it was far too steep for me to feel safe walking up on two feet. We kept along like that for another couple hours, and the peak loomed above us like a cat's feather-on-a-stick toy, just barely out of reach.

As the sun began to descend toward the western horizon, we approached the top. It was so close, I could taste it. One more shimmy-step along and we'd be at the top. My hand reached towards the peak, and I dragged myself those last few feet. Davenport and I staggered to our feet and surveyed the vast expanse of land for which we'd just pushed ourselves to the breaking point to reach.

"It's magnificent," I managed to say through the thick veil of awe.

"I can't believe we didn't cross the mountain sooner," Davenport muttered.

Below us stretched a vast plain of bright green grass, traversed by a dazzlingly bright river. As far as the eye could see, nothing but untouched prairie. I forgot all about the hunger and thirst that had plagued me for two days and just drank in the beauty of the scene before me. The ground was dotted with copses of trees, all glowing with health. By the river, a small group of deer grazed peacefully, not a care in the world. After enduring such tragedy and hardship over the past week, I'd completely given up hope of ever feeling true, unblemished happiness again, but now, I was filled with such an ecstasy I felt like I could float gracefully down to the plains on a rainbow unicorn.

And then the lights went out.

It had been early evening when Davenport and I had reached the top, so the sun should not have gone down completely yet. Even if it had, the sun didn't wink out like a light bulb with a switch. Still, the arena had been plunged into a darkness so complete, I couldn't see my hand directly in front of my own face.

"Davenport?" I called nervously, fear rising up inside me once again.

"Right here," he responded from a few feet away.

"What happened?"

"I don't know for sure, but I think Disney must have shut off the light source for the arena or something."

"Does that mean the sun that has risen and sunk every day we've been in here isn't the real sun?"

"If he can turn it on and off like that, then yes, it was an artificial sun."

I was suddenly overtaken with a sense of claustrophobia. I'd been in a bubble this whole time? I haven't seen real sunlight in almost two weeks? The thought was almost too crazy to comprehend. "Calm down," Davenport reassured me. "We'll just sleep here for the night, and maybe Disney will turn the lights back on in the morning."

"What if he doesn't?" I murmured between deep breaths.

"He probably just wants to make us suffer for another day, and he made sure we didn't use the last of the daylight getting down to the paradise field," he explained.

"Okay, you're probably right," I told myself in an attempt to calm myself down. "Let's just fumble around and try to find a place to sleep."

"We can't do that. If we try, we run the risk of slipping and falling down the mountain. The safest thing to do us just curl up right where we are and try to get some rest."

"Okay, I'll do that."

I lowered myself to my knees, and curled up to preserve my own warmth. What Davenport and I hadn't counted on was the decrease in temperature that came with lack of sunlight. Without the light shining on it, the surface of the rock would only get colder as the night progressed. Add to that the fact that the wind had picked up even more, and at the summit of a mountain, we were totally exposed. Every gust of wind nipped at my nose and hands, to the point where I felt like a tiny dog was using me as a chew toy. Hypothermia of frostbite would surely afflict us before the night was over, and that was assuming Disney would let the fake sun rise normally and raised the temperature accordingly. For all we knew, he could decide to never bring the light back.

"Davenport, we're not going to survive the night like this," I murmured.

"You're right. We'll freeze to death."

"What do we do? We can't exactly blindly stumble around the mountain until we find a cave, that's way too dangerous."

"I think we have no choice but to use each other's body heat to stay warm."

"Are you suggesting we cuddle?"

"I wasn't going to put it that way, but yes, that's what I'm suggesting. If it makes you that uncomfortable, then we can freeze, I'm fine with that. I'm just saying sharing each other's body heat is the only way to warm up out here."

"I'm not opposed to it, I was just making sure you weren't either."

I scrambled across the rocks towards him, and we wrapped our arms around each other. His embrace significantly warmed the air around me and I immediately felt better. I wasn't repulsed at the thought of hugging him as I thought I would, it was actually quite pleasant. As time progressed, we became more comfortable with it, which was a good thing because the temperature was still dropping and we needed to be as close as possible. Being in his grasp made me feel secure, and I could almost forget that we were in a fight to the death. His embrace was so paternal and caring that, if I closed my eyes, I felt like I was safe back home, with my own father. For the first time since entering the arena, I knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that I was loved.

 **Alright, just making sure nobody takes it the wrong way, the last bit is a fatherly/daughterly relationship, nothing romantic. That would be kinda messed up. So please don't yell at me for giving that narrator romantic feelings for Davenport, because that's not what that is. Okay, now that I've gotten that out of the way, what did you think of that chapter? Any predictions? We're reaching the climax of the story now, and I haven't written exactly, but I predict maybe 5-6 more chapters. Until then, please read and review!**


	17. Trouble in Paradise

**Sorry I'm a little bit later than usual, this holiday season's just been pretty busy so far and I didn't have time. Hopefully this update isn't too late! Anyway, on with review replies:**

 **EmeraldTulip:** **Thanks, I put a lot of effort into sweetening up that ending. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!**

 **Dirtkid123: Hooray for unexplained emotions! I'm so happy that you love it! That means I'm doing something right!**

 **TheMeepyFreak: Sorry, I can't say whether you're right or wrong about the narrator. You'll find out eventually. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Sorry, I can't say whether you're right or wrong about the narrator. You'll find out eventually. Yep, I can't believe I'm reaching the climax of the story either! Time flies when you're having fun!**

 **Melon-Lord-of-Fire: I know, I don't want anybody to die either. We'll see. Thanks, I tried to make the father/daughter bit as enjoyable and fluffy as possible.**

 **daphrose: Yeah, the story's continued on while you've been busy. Making things hard on the characters is at least 85% of the fun of writing a story! You're definitely right about Stan turning to the wild side. I didn't originally intend for that to be as deep as embracing his wild canine instincts, but it makes me seem more intelligent and insightful, so I'm going to go with it ;). As for the narrator, I can't confirm or disprove your guesses, but you'll find out eventually. It'd be an awful story if readers still didn't know by the end. Thanks so much for finding time to review in your busy schedule! It's much appreciated!**

 **Wow! That's the most reviews I've ever gotten on a single chapter! Thank you guys so much for your feedback and support!**

Chapter 16: Trouble in Paradise

I awoke with a start, finding myself entangled in Davenport's arms. For a second, I had forgotten the events of last night and was a bit too quick and frantic at escaping his grasp. However, as the morning brain fog disappeared, I remembered exactly what had happened. It had been so cold, we'd had to snuggle up with each other just to keep warm. And I'd found security and comfort in the arms of the man who'd saved my life on multiple occasions in the past week or so. The man whom I'd never stop owing.

I also remembered that it had been pitch black when I'd fallen asleep; but now it was as light as any morning. I glanced out at the plains below us, hoping that the paradise we'd seen the night before had not been an illusion. Fortunately, it was all still there, ours for the taking.

"Davenport," I urged, nudging him awake. "The lights came back on, and the other side of the mountain is still perfect."

"Really? I was sure Disney would destroy is while it was dark outside just to mess with our heads," he responded with a yawn.

"Well, unless I'm delusional, it's still there."

"Good, let's get going as soon as possible. If we don't get any water today, we'll die for sure."

It wasn't until he pointed it out that I remembered how dehydrated I was, and my body seemed to remember at the same time. Immediately, my headache returned with a vengeance and my limbs felt weak and rubbery. I almost tripped and plummeted down the mountainside, I was so dizzy. Luckily, Davenport caught me before I could topple over the edge. "Let's get going right now," he insisted.b

Together, mutually supporting each other so we wouldn't stumble, we gradually made our way down the mountain. This side was not nearly as perilous as the opposite side, so it was more like descending a hill. In what felt like no time at all, but felt like forever at the same time, we reached the base of the mountain. I practically fell head over heels reaching down to touch the first dry grass I'd seen in two days. I flipped on to my back and made grass angels in my giddiness.

"Oh Davenport, isn't it wonderful?" I giggled, loving the feeling of the greenery beneath my fingers.

"Yes, wonderful, but you know what would be even better? Not dying of dehydration, so let's make for the river now and drink up."

I stood up, wobbling a little as I forced my weakened body to obey me. The river was only a couple hundred yards away, but it seemed like miles. I wasn't sure if I could make it all the way there without collapsing from fatigue. Despite Davenport's efforts to keep my on my feet, I ended up dragging myself the last ten feet to the water's edge before plunging my face into the current.

At this point, I didn't care if the water was contaminated with some sort of disease-causing bacteria, I desperately needed hydration. The slight current felt so good, the water tickling my face ever so gently and rinsing away layers of dirt and grime. This was nothing like the floodwater which had ruined the other side of the mountain, it was gentle and clear. A quick sip proved it was indeed fresh water, and it was all I could do not to gulp it down by the mouthful. Too much water after drinking none at all for two days could kill me.

It took a lot of willpower, but Davenport and I paced ourselves well. We sat by the riverside, monitoring each other, while we each drank a hand full every couple minutes. It tasted so good on my parched tongue, I thought I'd never be happier again. Days of misery made this experience all the more pleasurable.

"Davenport, what are we going to do now?" I asked.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with what we're doing right now, as we speak?" he replied, taking another gulp of water.

"There's still one competitor left, and we have no resources. We'll need a way to get food, and eventually something with which to kill the third competitor."

"Well, this place is so fantastic, I"m sure someone else has been here. Maybe some of the competitors started the competition by crossing the mountain and have been here the whole time. We should look for evidence of that."

"There was that bugle call we heard while trekking up the mountain. That was probably someone from this side, because anyone caught in that flood would have been killed much sooner."

"You're right, so that means at least two other people have been here, one of which is dead. If we look around, we're bound to find some sort of weapon or food-collecting method that was left behind!"

As soon as we'd drank enough water to ease our headaches, we set off in search of an abandoned camp or some sign that human life had been here before. A quick survey of the surrounding land from our place by the riverside yielded some promising results: there was an unidentified object that looked man-made about a mile off in the distance. The plains were so flat and pristine that it was possible to make things out up to a mile away.

Now hydrated and far more comfortable than we'd been upon arrival, Davenport and I set off across the green plains towards the area in question. In just twenty minutes, we reached what appeared to be an abandoned competitor camp. There was a crudely-build lean-to against a tree stump that had seen better days. It looked like a picked-over woodpecker all-you-can-eat buffet. The ground was scattered with various things that had likely come from one of the backpacks at the beginning of the Games: a small axe, a jar for holding water that was half-full, a short length of rope, and some bits of various food items from berries to a half-eaten squirrel carcass. But one thing about the whole situation struck me as quite odd. If someone killed the owner of this camp, why would they leave such valuable resources behind?

There were only two possible explanations. One: this camp belonged to someone who was still living, but was off somewhere hunting or looking to kill us. This seemed unlikely because anyone smart enough to last this long would not leave things out like this. That leaves explanation number two: the owner of this camp was not killed by another competitor. No face would appear on a sleeve as a result of this death. I knew it was a plausible explanation because I'd fantasized that it would have been my own fate had I not run into Davenport. Whoever had camped here had given up hope. Simply curled up and waited for their body to run out of reserve and shut down.

"It was a suicide," I muttered to Davenport, who was staring at the camp with an expression that revealed he'd reached the same conclusion I had.

"Unbelievable," he murmured in response. We spent about five minutes just mollified by the horrors of the scene which had played out right at our feet just yesterday. Disney had created a situation so unbearable that one participant had decided it would be better to die than continue. In several ways, this was worse than the competitors murdering each other. I had never wanted Disney dead more than I did in that moment. How could a person be so heinous as to condone this? To enjoy watching it? I was so disgusted and angry, it took all my willpower not to scream in fury.

It was this enraged silence that provided us with those crucial extra seconds in a life-or-death situation.

My ears picked up a low thrumming sound just as my eyes caught a glimpse of the large, roiling, black mass in the distance.

"Davenport, what's that?" I asked shakily, pointing towards the body which was gaining on us with alarming speed.

"I don't know, but I'm going to guess it's dangerous and that we should run now."

We took off at a sprint as the thundering of hundreds of footsteps grew louder behind us. The stress of pursuit was the only thing keeping me going, as I hadn't yet fully recovered from two days of dehydration and we still hadn't eaten anything. I had no idea what was chasing us, but my gut instinct told me that whatever it was had murderous intents. Whatever it was also had incredible running capabilities. Even at top speed, the beast was rapidly gaining on us.

"Davenport!" I cried. "Where do we run to?!"

"Nearest tree!" he called back. "Our best hope is that it can't climb!"

We'd escaped a threat by climbing trees before, and something told me that no young boy would sacrifice himself by attacking whatever it was behind us. Despite this, I knew we didn't stand a chance at outrunning it and climbing out of reach was our only hope. I risked a glance behind me, only to find that the beast was disturbingly close and getting closer. I also discovered that beasts would be a more appropriate term. Through my panic, I could make out several pairs of eyes and snapping jaws. A terrifying pack of creatures, and Davenport and I were the prey.

I turned back around just in time to see the tree root, and narrowly avoided tripping over it. Unfortunately, Davenport hadn't been so observant. His foot snagged on the root just as I reached the base of the tree and had reached for the first branch to climb. The swarm of beasts approached, and I could now make out some of the finer details of their appearance. There were at least ten of them in the pack, and they had perfectly circular ears atop their heads, large, white front paws, skinny tails, and large mouths full of teeth. I'd heard a description like this in a class at school about Disney's superiority: they were Mickey Mutts. Disney had created them to be voracious beasts that devoured anything in sight, to be used to quell an uprising if one ever occurred in one of the sectors. If they caught up to us, we'd be eaten alive.

"Davenport! Get up!" I screamed frantically, dashing back to his side to help him back to his feet. Staggering, he followed me as I began to ascend the tree. As I pulled him along behind me, grabbing branch after branch and climbing higher, I heard an agonizing scream. From eight feet off the ground, I looked back in time to see one of the Mutts with its jaws clamped around Davenport's torso. How it could have jumped so high, I had no idea, but the only thing that mattered right now was climbing even higher. I heard a yip as Davenport whacked the creature upside the head, causing it to lose its grip. But that couldn't erase the damage that had already been done. Davenport and I continued climbing until we were certain no creature could reach us. I could tell by the pained moan that Davenport uttered every time he pulled himself up to another branch that he was seriously hurt, but I continued climbing until we were safe.

Below us, the Mickey Mutts tried to climb the tree, but their claws were for one purpose only: disemboweling prey. They were useless in tree climbing. Fifteen feet in the air, we were safe from their grasp. But I could tell with just a glance that Davenport was in serious trouble. The Mutt had bitten him on the right side, and his shirt was drenched in blood, and more just kept pouring out. Way up in a tree, there was nothing to use as a bandage, and blood loss would be the first thing to kill him. If the Mutts stayed at the base of the tree, there was no hope for either of us.

"Davenport, are you okay?" I asked concernedly.

"Yep, I'm just swell. There's just this one little problem where I've been attacked by a Mickey Mutt and am slowly bleeding to death!" he shouted, grimacing.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" I felt totally helpless watching him suffer and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to ease his suffering.

"Try to get the Mutts to leave us alone so we can get out of this tree."

"No need, Disney is already summoning them back," I said, as a giant hole opened up in the ground a couple yards away and the Mickey Mutts filed into it. The hole closed, and there was no evidence of the Mutts every having been here. Except for the bite marks on Davenport. "Do you think you can make it back down the tree?

"Yeah," he grunted. I knew he was trying to be strong for my sake, but I could see the agony in his eyes as he eased himself down branch by branch.

"I'll see if there's anything around here we could use for a bandage."

"Back that the camp, there was a backpack and a coil of rope. You could use the ax to cut the fabric into strips and tie them on with the rope," he explained, stumbling after me as we headed back toward the abandoned camp.

"Good idea."

As we trudged back to the camp, I wasn't sure who was hurting more, Davenport with his continually-bleeding wound, or me having to watch him suffer. I'd always been sensitive to other people's feelings, and seeing him in so much pain was killing me inside. I couldn't even bear to think what a wound like this would mean in the grand scheme of the competition. It would be so easy for the remaining competitor to run by us, take a quick jab at Davenport, and the combination of two wounds would certainly kill him. The thought crossed my mind that this wound alone would be severe enough to kill him, but quickly banished it. Optimism was the key to survival.

We reached the camp and I set to work on the bandage Davenport had described. The ax blade was sharp enough to rip the backpack to strips and while I hated destroying a valuable resource, I knew that clotting that wound was far more important. Once I had a decent strip of fabric, I returned to Davenport, who was now leaning against the shelter with exhaustion, and rolled up his shirt to examine the wound.

It was awful, a crescent-shaped series of deep puncture marks where the Mutt had bitten him. I almost couldn't bear to look at it, but I wrapped the fabric of the backpack around and tied it as tightly as I dared.

"How bad is it?" Davenport asked through gritted teeth.

Not wanting him to give up hope, I responded, "Not as bad as I thought."

"Don't sugarcoat it," he insisted tersely.

"It's pretty bad," I sighed. "But if we keep the bleeding under control, you should be all right. They're deep, but they're small."

"Well, that's good news."

"And the Mutt didn't get at any major organs, which is always a good thing."

"I wonder if I tasted good," he pondered aloud.

"I doubt it. Not after nearly two weeks out here."

"You're probably right. We both probably taste like sweat and dirt."

"Maybe sweat and dirt is the Mutt's favorite flavor," I suggested.

"Knowing who engineered them, their favorite flavor is probably sorrow."

"True, that does sound like something Disney would do."

I was glad that Davenport was feeling good enough to crack jokes with me, but I could see in his eyes that he was in pain and talking wasn't helping matters any. "You drag yourself into the shelter and get some rest," I insisted, knowing he'd be safer there than out in the open. "I'll go forage for food." I had expected him to complain and try to come with me, but he was too drained to even put up a fight.

Setting off toward the nearest copse of bushes that might yield food, I worried about Davenport's safety in this situation. I'd partially lied to him when I said that the bite wound would heal itself. I didn't see how it was going to close up without stitches, and there was no way get a sterilized needle and thread out here in the wilderness. Even if I could, I'd never sewn anything before, much less a person, so I would probably end up making things worse. If we didn't get out of here soon, I feared infection would set in and he'd face a similar fate as KC. There was also something nagging me about the Mickey Mutts, like I was forgetting something about the way they worked. But, I dismissed my doubts and continued with the job at hand. Injured or not, we still needed food, and quickly. Now that we had access to water, hunger was the next thing going to kill us.

Unfortunately, there were many, many other things that were also aiming to kill us. Just another day in the Disney Games.

 **Well, that was fun to write. You'll probably scream at me for injuring Davenport, but it was worth it. This was one of that chapters that I fantasized about when the idea for the story first came to me. What'd you think? I'd love to hear opinions, predictions, or suggestions! Until next chapter, bye!**


	18. The Forgotten Detail

**EmeraldTulip: Thank you for not screaming at me. It's nice to know that people actually read my author's notes. I'm glad you liked the chapter, it means I'm doing something right! And that last bit, I didn't really intend for it to be that funny, but now that I think about it, it is pretty humorous. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Yep, characters not dying is always a good thing, definitely worth rejoicing. But yeah, Mickey Mutts kinda ruined the peace. That was supposed to happen. Wow, I'm not even trying to incorporate the reader into the story like that, I just kinda think of words and type them out, but I'm glad you find more in the story than that! I always love feeling like a part of the story when I read, and I'm happy I can give the same feeling to others.**

 **Dirtkid123: Well, we'll see how things work out with that. *laughs nervously***

 **daphrose: Overreaction is just a part of life, no need to hide it. I felt like a monster while writing that chapter, injuring Davenport and all. When the idea for this story first came to me, the scene with the Mickey Mutts was one of the first I came up with. I don't know, just the idea of Disney taking a symbol so iconic as Mickey Mouse and turning it into a monster appealed to me. (I imagine them as kinda like what Mickey Mouse would look like if he had rabies and mange). As for the nagging bit, well, this chapter is called the forgotten detail. Also, I still can't confirm or deny your guesses as to the narrator and everything, but hopefully, most or all of your questions will be answered by the end of the story. Thanks for reviewing!**

Chapter 17: The Forgotten Detail

I spent only fifteen minutes foraging for food in the bushes and trees, because I wanted to return to check on Davenport. This horrible gut feeling that something more was amiss kept nagging me, and I couldn't stay away any longer. Despite the short trip to collect food, I did return with a sizable pile of roots and berries that I was certain were safe.

"Davenport, I'm back," I announced upon returning to the abandoned shelter we'd adopted.

"Did you find anything good?" he asked feebly. I could tell from his voice that he was weaker than when I'd last seen him, which concerned me slightly, but I brushed it off as hunger and blood loss.

"Yeah, I got some good berries and a few roots. How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Been better," he replied with a groan. "We just need to give it time to heal, and you'll be good as new before you know it," I assured, although the thought that there was something I was forgetting continued to vex me. What was it about Mickey Mutt bites that was special? I knew there was something, but I couldn't remember what, and it was killing me.

"You hungry?"

"Not really, you can have the food. You're the one who gathered it anyway," he said, which triggered several alarms in my head. There was no way he couldn't be hungry, neither of us had eaten in days.

"Davenport, you have to eat something, I'm forcing you," I insisted, handing him a couple of berries. He reluctantly accepted them, but didn't eat any. "Are you sure you're okay?" I questioned. "You haven't had any food in days, you must be hungry."

"I guess I'm just used to starvation by now, and my body has adapted to not need as much food."

"I may not be a genius, but I know that's not how it works."

"Just leave me be," he whined.

"Okay fine," I surrendered, turning around to leave the shelter. I decided to scout the area a little bit to get my mind off of Davenport's erratic behavior. We only had so long before Disney forced us into interaction with whoever the third remaining competitor was, and it would be best if we were familiar with the terrain. The area was mostly flat grassland, with a few trees and bushes scattered about. Other than that, there was no sign of life besides Davenport's and my camp. Wherever the third person was, he or she had an advantage over us.

First of all, they'd made it this far in the Games, so they must know how to survive in the wild. Second, they'd survived the flood, which meant they had either been on this side of the mountain from the beginning, and were familiar with the layout, or were exceptionally strong and determined like me and Davenport. Add that to the fact that Davenport was currently incapacitated, and we were sitting ducks.

The thought of Davenport's injury got me thinking about that situation again, despite efforts to banish the thought. I had a faint memory of the lesson on Mickey Mutts in school, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't remember that one detail I seemed to be forgetting. The teacher had said that Mickey Mutts were bred by Disney for use in putting out rebellion. He would send out a pack of them into an area of uprising and they'd attack people, which would put them out of commission. But how exactly did it do so? I remembered it had been more than the bite wound itself which would render the victim helpless and dying, it was something about the Mutt that was the real killer.

The memory hit me like a ton of bricks just as I heard the first scream.

Poison. The Mickey Mutt's bite contained deadly poison. All at once, the entire lesson came back to me: The Mutts were engineered to have a horrible toxin in their saliva that caused unbearable pain a while after the bite wound was inflicted. The delayed reaction was simply for cruelty; it gave the victim time to think it was going to be okay, then struck with a vengeance. That was why the Mutt that bit Davenport let go so easily; it had already done its job. And it was all downhill from here. The poison killed slowly, putting its victim through as much torment and pain as possible.

And it was already beginning its deadly deed. As long as I live, I will never, ever hear a scream more agonized or more horrible than the one that currently resonated across the plains. I sprinted back to the shelter, terrified of what I would find upon returning. The scream itself was torture for me, and I couldn't bear to imagine the level of agony required to elicit a sound like that from a person.

Fortunately, by the time I reached the shelter, the scream had ceased, but that did nothing to erase the look of excruciating pain on Davenport's face. I simply couldn't bear to see him like that, and I collapsed to my knees, shaking uncontrollable. He was suffering immensely, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

"Mickey Mutt poison," he said through gritted teeth, clutching the bite wound in his side. "I'd forgotten all about that part."

"I know, Davenport. I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do now."

"You can hear me out," he gasped, breathing heavily. "You asked about the badge, why it made me so angry."

"Davenport, you don't have to-" I began, but he cut me off.

"Yes, you should know this before I go. Before the reaping, my kids and I, we made a deal. If we got chosen, we'd have to make sure we didn't let the Games change who we are."

"I-I don't understand," I stammered.

"We promised to be ourselves in the Games, and not alter our personalities just to win, like KC did with her killing spree. It was our own little act of rebellion, not letting Disney force us to become something we're not."

Here, he was forced to pause, as the poison sent a new wave of agony through him. I watched helplessly as he just sat there, breathing heavily with his eyes scrunched shut, attempting not to pass out. After a painfully long time, it subsided, and he continued, "When we set those traps, I made sure we set ones that didn't require us to go back and finish the job. I hoped maybe that would be enough to please them, since they're watching everything we do from home, knowing I was trying to be as uninvolved in the deaths as possible. But when I was forced to take the badge, it assigned the blame, and it meant I was no longer the same as I was before the Games. The old me would never kill an innocent person, and I know I've let my kids down."

"Oh Davenport, I'm sure they're not disappointed in you. You're only doing what you have to do, and they're proud of you for maintaining as much of your old self as you did."

"It's not enough, the Games did change me, and I'll never forgive myself for breaking that promise."

"The Games didn't change who you are as a person, they just forced you to resort to desperate measures. The Davenport before the Games would think about the risks and rewards of a course of action, and choose the wiser one, which is exactly what you did. It's only an unimportant detail that the course of action was killing another person, but the fact that you feel so guilty about it proves that you're still a good person," I assured.

"I guess you're right," he admitted. "I hope they show this scene to the people at home. I need Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo to know that I didn't mean to break our promise and I hope they can forgive me, since, you know, I'll never be able to say it to their faces.

"I'm sure they'll forgive you even if they don't hear this conversation. Kids forgive their parents, I know that for a fact because I've done it lots of times."

"Okay, I believe you," he said, before another round of poison torture wracked his body. Tears stung at my eyes as I watched him attempt to cope yet again. He looked up at me with a look that clearly said, "You don't have to stay to watch this." Thankful that he understood, I excused myself from the shelter. If there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was witnessing someone in pain. I also had to accept that it was only a matter of time before the poison finished its job, and I couldn't bear to witness that either.

I leaned up against a tree, buried my face in my knees, and just let the tears fall. Davenport, who'd taken me under his wing practically from day one of the competition, and I was helpless to save him. He had given everything to help me get this far, and now I could do nothing but leave him to his fate. If only I'd remembered about the Mickey Mutt poison sooner, I could have caught it before symptoms started, and possibly tried to come up with an antidote. There was now no way to avoid the inevitable: he was dying, and I was powerless to stop it.

I was bawling so loudly, I almost couldn't hear the bugle call.

 **Before any of you track me down and kill me, just hear me out, it was just crucial to the plot, I had no choice! I apologize for the short chapter, but there was enough importance to those events that I think it made up for it. What'd you guys think? I'd love to hear your thoughts/rants/words of mourning in a review, and I'll see you next chapter**


	19. Rage and Lament

**So sorry I'm a day late guys! I was really busy yesterday and couldn't find the time to sit down and post a chapter.**

 **EmeraldTulip: What's done is done. the story must go on, with or without him. I am also glad our narrator doesn't end up having to kill Davenport, it's almost better this way.**

 **Dirtkid123: Sorry, I had to kill him. The plot must go on!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Yeah... sorry about the intense emotional turmoil. Look on the bright side: the narrator doesn't have to kill Davenport. I tried my best to make the whole badge thing as emotional as possible, and I'm glad to see it paid off. The story is coming to a close, but don't worry, there's still at least 4 more chapters before the end.**

 **Melon-Lord-of-Fire: Well, we'll see what happens post-Disney Games. We don't even know how the Games end yet! You'll find out who's remaining soon enough, and who the narrator is. Some things are better kept secret until the time is right. Thanks, happy new year to you too!**

 **Guest: Sorry, but I kind of had to kill him. It was essential to the plot. Sometimes an author needs to make difficult decisions.**

 **Guest: Well, I have been writing. I hope this is soon enough.**

 **PicklePie: I apologize for Davenport, but sometimes an author needs to do the unthinkable to make the story engaging.**

 **Wow, thanks for all the reviews guys! I really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

Chapter 18: Rage and Lament

He was gone. For good. I'd never see him again. Never hear his arrogant remarks about his own intelligence, or hear his slow breathing from across the shelter as he slept.

My sadness consumed me, and I could do nothing but sit there, head buried in my hands, and let the tears fall for hours. If I'd been stable enough to care, I would have been concerned about dehydrating myself, but in my tunnel of sorrow, there was only room for lament. And rage.

I was furious with Disney for being such a cruel tyrant. How could any person allow fellow humans to be murdered by each other? I thought of Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo, and how they were now fatherless, and my fury deepened. Children orphaned because of one man's sadistic game. How could the universe allow someone so evil to possess power? I thought some unexplained forces were supposed to keep awful things like this from happening. Good things were supposed to happen to good people, yet here I was, mourning the death of an innocent man who'd spent his life making the world a better place.

My sobs gave way to screams as anger surged within me, and I began to rampage, ripping handfuls of grass out of the ground. I rose to my feet, and relentlessly kicked at the tree trunk until my toes were numb and my knees were on fire with the effort. I have no memory of what exactly I said as I screamed into the wind, but I can only guess that it was mainly profane comments about Disney's evilness and why the universe would leave me like this. They'd taken away my best friend, and left me alone to either kill or be killed by some unknown adversary.

Some amount of time passed by the time rage relented to exhaustion and I collapsed after my tantrum. It was all too hazy for me to remember exactly, but the sun was close to setting by the time I stopped yelling. The other competitor had no doubt heard my cries, and would probably kill me if I fell asleep, but at this point, I frankly didn't care. At least if I died, I would't have to live with Davenport's death hanging over my shoulder. I could be with him again, and I could make sure he knew how sorry I was that it was his life instead of mine that had ended so cruelly.

But if I died, I could never continue the mission. Davenport would want me to keep fighting until Disney was dethroned, replaced with a non-tyrannical ruler who would be kind to the people. He'd want me to find Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo, and tell them how much he loved them, and make sure they know how horrible he felt for thinking he'd disappointed them. But these positive thoughts came too late for me to save myself from tiredness; and I promptly fell asleep, unable to do anything but hope the last competitor would be merciful and wait for me to wake before approaching.

~0~

I awoke the next day, thankful to find that I'd been left alone throughout the night. But this peace wouldn't last long; Disney would think of some way to drive me and the other competitor together for a final bloodbath. I walked over to the stream and took a long drink to re-hydrate myself after all that crying yesterday, and foraged around for some more roots and berries to eat. Something told me that whether I liked it or not, and one way or another, this would be my last day in the arena. I leaving either life itself, or the arena and going home to Sector 12. The very thought of home brought up a range of emotions; from longing to dread. I glanced at the badge of the scrawny boy on my arm, and wondered if my family would hate me for killing someone else, even if it was indirectly. Maybe Davenport had been right, and being blamed for it made it seem much worse, and the Games had changed me as a person. I certainly didn't feel like the same person I'd been when I entered the arena so long ago.

How long had it been? I'd lost track of time since I'd gotten here. It felt like a few days and a few months at the same time, but I'd guess it had been around two weeks since the Games started. Which meant Disney would likely be getting bored, and would put an end to it pretty soon. How would this end? Would Disney send the Mickey Mutts back to drive us together, or cause another flood, or send me something that I desperately wanted to follow, which would lead me straight to the other competitor? And what would w do once we were together? Just see where it goes? Or would Disney put us on little platforms above lava and make us beat each other with long rods like gladiators? The possibilities for the grand finale were practically endless, but it was certain to be a spectacle.

I wondered how the betting was going on back home. Which sectors were eligible to be excused from next year's Games? I didn't feel that many people would have bet on me from the start, but maybe the other competitor was a strong candidate and lots of people had bet on him or her. If that was the case, I was doomed for sure. In my state, there was no way I could stand up to someone like KC, or possibly even stronger and more menacing. but my thoughts were interrupted when the parachute fell from the sky, a bound-up letter tied to it.

"Great," I thought. "I wasn't expecting a formal invitation to my death."

I snatched the letter out of the sky, and opened it, dreading what I would find inside. The letter was written in overly-neat, old-timey handwriting, and looked like it belonged in an eighteenth-century presidential mansion rather than a modern-day death tournament. But the message was meant to be the real show-stopper: it was brief, but the tone was clear: "Dear finalist, the battle's almost won, but you have one foe left to defeat before you can return home in a glorious spotlight. The final duel will take place by the large maple tree directly parallel to the bend in the river, located north of your encampment. The battle will begin as soon as both contestants are present, however, stalling will do you no good. If you decide to tarry, you just may encounter some extra motivation to hurry along. Signed, Walt Disney II"

The only bend in the river to the north that I could see was at least a half-hour's walk from here, so I decided to pack up everything that would aid me in battle and set off immediately. One way or another, I wanted to get out of this arena as soon as possible. As I walked, I wondered what would happen if I won the Games. How long would it be before I was finally allowed to go home? Obviously, Disney would keep me at headquarters for at least a day or two to 'celebrate,' but he'd have to send me home eventually. How different would life at home be if I was a victor of the Disney Games? Would the goons treat me with more respect? Would everyone I know turn their backs on me because I'm a ruthless killer now? I sure hoped not. I so desperately wanted to turn back the clock and go back to the way things were before.

Not just before I was chosen for the Games, but before Disney even took over. Back when our main goal was entertainment and making people happy. Thoughts of the past made me yearn for my old life, and I nearly burst into tears yet again. But I forced myself to find composure because I needed to be strong for this final battle. If I showed up with tears streaming down my face, I was a goner for sure. If I was to return home, I needed to focus on winning.

But how could I when winning was synonymous with murdering? I would have to kill whoever this person was if I wanted to win, but I was pretty certain I would't be able to bring myself to do it.

All these thoughts circulated through my head as I approached the site where the final battle was to commence. I could see the massive maple tree on the horizon, a sight so pristine it felt dreadfully out of place. I wondered what sort of method Disney would use to force us to fight each other. Both of us had to be engaged for it to be a decent show, but if I chose to just lay there and take it, Disney would not be satisfied. Perhaps he would somehow provide extra motivation to fight?

"What sort of thing could he do to force me to do something?" I wondered, but quickly shut the thought out as I began to dream up possible ideas for that situation, none of which were pleasant. I shook my head to get rid of all thoughts and focused on putting one foot in front of the other towards the big tree. If I let some scary thoughts cloud my mind now, I didn't stand a chance at winning once the duel began. I needed to keep a level head, and keep going and going until I'm sitting at home with my family.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, I reached the base of the maple tree. Up close, it was even more majestic and beautiful, stretching a hundred feet into the air, with a canopy enveloping an enormous area in shadows. The perfect centerpiece for a final battle.

I sat down against the base of the tree to rest up while waiting for the other competitor to show up. Either I was really early, or they were really late, because nearly half an hour passed before I saw the silhouette of a human approaching from the opposite direction from which I'd come. It was too far to tell for sure, but I was pretty sure it was a boy, average-sized, with blonde hair. As he got closer, these suspicions were confirmed. Once he reached the tree, I was certain that he was the boy from Sector 6, because of the 'Good Luck Charlie' written across his shirt in teal child's handwriting. I didn't remember anything about him from training, which meant he hadn't demonstrated extreme proficiency in anything, nor had he been noticeably terrible.

"Hi," I greeted cautiously, for I still didn't know if he was the aggressive type or not.

"Hello," he responded curtly, eyeing my suspiciously. It was pretty odd for someone who was about to try to kill you to start with a casual hello.

"So, I guess this is the end."

"Yes, I guess so."

I knew right then that I couldn't do it. He wasn't evil, he didn't seem to be planning the best way to kill me right off the bat, I wouldn't be able to kill him. Even if he attacked me first, I wouldn't be able to do any more than shake him off to protect myself. I knew that I was doomed because my opponent was no ruthless killer, but just a regular guy forced into doing awful things by less-than-ideal circumstances. But a quick examination revealed no badges on either of his arms, meaning his hands were clean.

I glanced at my own arm, and the face of the boy from Sector 5, and wondered what he thought of me for being a killer. Maybe he was thinking it would make his job a whole lot easier, knowing that he was killing a murderer, therefore bringing justice. Justice. The very thought of such a thing sent jerks of anger throughout my body. The only thing that would bring justice would be to kill Disney. Justice for all the deaths and misery he's caused. Justice for the innocent people he's brutally murdered in these Games. Justice for the families he's left broken and battered. Justice for all the people he's oppressed, and all the rights he's removed. There was no justice in the universe if that man remained in power.

"Greetings, tributes!" Disney's powerful voice boomed over unseen loudspeakers. "As you probably know, you're the last two standing! Congratulations! That's a huge accomplishment, and you should be very proud of yourselves. But, as you know, there can be only one winner, which will have to be decided soon. Who's it going to be? You'll be allowed to use whatever weapons you have at your disposal to eliminate your opponent, and anything goes! This is no formal duel, so tactics of any kind, no matter how barbaric, are not only permitted, but encouraged! Good luck!"

 **Hooray! The final battle is here! Are you guys as excited as I am? How do you think it's going to end? I'd love to hear predictions/comments/questions/rants/whatever you'd like to say! Until next chapter, please read and review!**


	20. The Final Battle

**The wait is over! The final battle of the Disney Games is finally here! No, this isn't the last chapter, just the final battle, whoo! I'm pumped, how about you guys? Well, I just have to write review replies, and then you can read the chapter.**

 **Dirtkid123: No promises... *laughs nervously***

 **Susz: You're absolutely right, there isn't much of a story without a narrator, which makes this story a bit predictable, but I still think I managed to throw in a few twists. Read on and see!**

 **EmeraldTulip: Yeah, devastating circumstances. I thought the narrator's being upset would be really fitting for the situation. Yes, you are correct in your guess for Good Luck Charlie. He was the name I reaped from that show. Thanks for reviewing! Enjoy the chapter!**

 **Guest: Well, I wanted to leave readers in suspense so you'd be sure to come back for more. Read on to find out! Most of your questions should be answered.**

 **MrMuddyPaws: I haven't gotten all the way to the end of the story yet, but four is about where my current trajectory is headed. We'll see. I can promise you that the fight will be worth the wait, no matter the outcome. I should be studying for midterms right now also, they start in 3 days, but instead I'm here. Oh well, a little break to write fanfiction never hurt anybody.**

 **TheImpalaLover: I love cliffhangers too! Well, I love writing them. Reading cliffhangers and I don't get along very well, I usually end up screaming and crying for days on end. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! I love your name, by the way, impalas are awesome!**

 **On with the show!**

Chapter 19: The Final Battle

The final battle had begun. Not the way Disney wanted it to, not even close, but it had definitely started. The boy and I just circled each other, both refusing to advance. I didn't know what Disney would do if we didn't attack soon, but for now, we just stared each other down, wordlessly daring the other person to make a move.

"I don't want to do this any more than you do," I stated. "Go ahead and kill me, I won't stop you."

"I can't kill you any more easily than you could kill me," he replied shakily.

"Then what are we supposed to do? Tell Disney we surrender and that he can pick a winner himself?"

"I don't think he'd like that very much."

"You're right, he prefers to have his playthings put on the show for him."

"But if we don't do anything, he will figure out some way to make us attack each other."

"I guess we'll just have to wait for that to happen," I said, dreading whatever that way would be. Whatever Disney had in store to make us fight each other was guaranteed to be unpleasant.

"Whatever happens after Disney intervenes, just know, I apologize. Whatever horrible things he'll force me to do, it's not me. If you end up having to kill me because Disney's turned me into some kind of monster, I hope you'll do it knowing that you're putting me out of my misery."

The pain in his voice sounded so beyond his years, I wondered what sort of horrible hardships Disney had put him through during these Games that could make him so wise. He was too young to have suffered so much, I was too young to have endured the things I'd seen in these two weeks. My innocence had been stripped away, until nothing was left but a hollow shell of a person too miserable and depressed to want to continue. I almost wished that the Mickey Mutts had gotten me too, so at least I could have followed Davenport and know that he was okay.

If I ended up winning this thing, that was the one thing I knew would haunt me for life. Davenport. I knew that he would appear in my dreams every night as long as I lived, begging me to save him from the poison inside so that he could return to his children. If I survived to tomorrow, I would make it my life's purpose to find Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo and tell them how their father felt about them. Let them know that he was thinking about them in his last moments on Earth.

"What if I told you that the boy from 6 was responsible for those Mickey Mutts?" a voice whispered in my ear. Panicked, I slapped the side of my head to shoo away whatever was talking to me, only to find there was nothing there. Someone must be speaking directly into my head, telling me what really happened. The voice continued, "Those Mutts were sent to attack the boy, but he outsmarted them and sent them in the other direction, towards you and Davenport. If it weren't for his trickery, they never would have attacked you, and Davenport would still be here."

"Really? This boy is responsible for Davenport's death?" I thought.

"Yes," the voice hissed in response. "It's all his fault, his fault, yes."

I looked at the boy again, burning with rage and hatred. He killed Davenport, he would pay for his crimes. Without thinking, I grabbed the small axe from my backpack and charged him, blinded by anger and a desire to avenge Davenport. He looked at me with equal hatred and withdrew a knife, running forwards to meet me in the middle. Close-range fighting techniques I'd practiced in training piloted me through the tussle. I slashed, stabbed, and struck at him time and time again, but he dodged every single one of my strikes, reciprocating with attacks of his own, which I parried with the handle of the axe. This continued until we were fatigued enough to let a blow slip through, and I managed to rip a cut across his collarbone, unfortunately missing any vital blood vessels.

Despite this, he kept on fighting me with renewed energy, even with blood coursing down his chest. As I moved to dodge a blow from his knife, he surprised me by grabbing another, smaller one from his back pocket and throwing it at me. Luckily, my reflexes saved me from taking a knife to the eye, but the blade stung badly as it ripped a shallow scrape above my brow.

"You killed Lexi!" he shouted furiously, lunging at me with his knife, which I fortunately missed me.

"What are you talking about?" I screamed back, slashing at his knife arm. "You killed Davenport!"

The attack missed, but he had moved too quickly to dodge it and tripped over a root of the maple tree. I used the moment of stumbling to get in another blow to his left arm. It wouldn't prevent him from attacking me, but it was better than nothing.

"It's all your fault!" he cried, recklessly throwing his knife at me with enough force to send it straight into my skull. I dove behind the maple tree just as it hit, burying itself three inches into the bark. Weaponless, but fueled by a blind fury, he charged me again, reaching for my neck with his bare hands. He tackled me, hands around my throat, prepared to strangle the life out of me. I collapsed under his weight, futilely attempting to wrestle out of his grip, but he was too strong for me. For a fleeting moment, all hope was lost, and I succumbed to the notion that this is how it would end. As I desperately gasped for breath, I realized that this was how I had originally predicted it would end. Me giving myself up to him so that he could win, because I knew deep in my heart that I could never murder an innocent person. Wait a minute, I _could_ never murder an innocent person. Then why was I trying so hard to kill him, when I told myself I wouldn't?

I looked up into his eyes and saw that they were glaring at me with a burning hatred.

"He's not innocent," the voice in my head returned. "Remember? He killed Davenport."

"Dav-Davenport," I choked out through my constricted throat. The memory of him rejuvenated me, and I brought my legs up and kicked the boy in the back of the head with all the strength I could muster. I hit him so hard, his head flew forward and he conked his nose on my forehead. Pain shot through my head as his face made contact with the knife wound. I rolled over, frantically running out of reach of the wrath he was sure to conjure up. When I turned to look, he was chasing after me, a mix of my blood and his own dripping down his face.

I was weaponless, at this point my only hope was to outrun him, as he had drawn yet another knife from his pocket. At any moment, he could throw it at me, ending this fight once and for all. Time seemed to slow down, and the moment froze itself into my memory forever. I was running away, my head turned to look back at him. His right arm came up to launch the knife straight at the back of my neck: a kill shot. He had hunted down his quarry, tired it out, and was prepared to finish the job. The knife left his hand, arcing towards me. Without even thinking about it, my hand came up, reaching for the weapon poised to murder me on the spot. The orientation of the handle was just right, and my fingers closed around the bloodstained grip.

Now I had the upper hand. I stopped running and turned to face the boy, who didn't have the agility to halt before he slammed into me. And slammed right into the blade of the knife.

His eyes widened in shock and pain, and he glanced down at his chest, where the knife was now embedded. His own momentum had been his demise.

"He killed Davenport," the voice in my head whispered murderously.

"For Davenport," I growled evilly, my face just inches from his. With a quick twist of my wrist, he fell to the ground, dead. The bugle call sounded, this one longer and louder than any I'd heard before. I glanced down at the corpse below me, his face and chest drenched in blood, obscuring the logo of his sector. If one were to look at him now, they'd never know where he came from, or who he had killed.

Who he had killed.

I looked at his arms, where the badges would be, and the memory struck me harder than his face had when I kicked him in the head. He didn't have any badges: he hadn't killed anyone. Even if it was indirectly, a person in the Games got a badge when they killed someone. I got one for the boy from Sector 5, so if this boy had been responsible for Davenport's death, he'd certainly have a badge. Which means he didn't kill Davenport. The voice lied.

Of course, how had I not seen it? The boy and I refused to fight each other, so Disney had to make sure we did. He had done so by convincing us the other person was responsible for our greatest woe. He had told me that the boy killed Davenport, and he'd told the boy that I killed Lexi, who must have been his ally.

His ally. If the boy had been on this side of the mountain the whole time, his ally would probably be over here too. And they would certainly have a camp if they'd been here for an extended period of time. The camp that Davenport and I had borrowed, the one we'd deduced had previously belonged to a suicide victim, must have belonged to this girl. And somehow Disney convinced the boy that I was responsible for her death.

Each of these thoughts rushed through my fuzzy brain in the time it took for Disney's voice to announce, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the victor of the first annual Disney Games!"

 **Whoo-hoo! That was so much fun to write! Even though it was a bit short, I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thoughts? Questions? Complaints? I always love reading what fans have to say about my stories, so feel free to leave a review! See you next chapter!**


	21. The Interview

**I'm so sorry for being a few days late, I just had a really busy weekend and couldn't find the time to sit down and post. I hope nobody is too upset with me, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter.**

 **Susz: You'll find out soon enough who the narrator is, I promise**

 **EmeraldTulip: Yeah, I didn't really want either of them to die either, but it felt like too much of a Hunger Games ripoff to have them threaten a double suicide and force Disney to let them both live. This chapter reveals everyone who died, and their sectors, so just read along and you'll see.**

 **Dirtkid123: Well, sorry. Sometimes authors need to make difficult decisions.**

 **MrMuddyPaws: Yep, knife battles are great. That's why I wrote one. This chapter has a complete list of everyone who died, so you'll find out after you read it.**

 **daphrose: Whoa, you reviewed a lot of chapters, I'm going to have to use some serious abridging skills. I'm sorry, but Davenport had to go for the plot to continue, but his death was relatively merciful, as you put it. Oh, believe me, I've made those sounds on countless occasions after reading your stories. My neighbors thought we had bought a donkey and were torturing it XD. I know, I'm an evil author, but Disney made those Games, and I'm trying to get inside his head and be the evil tyrant when writing them. Hopefully, it provided the desired effect. The narrator will be revealed very soon, I know everyone's been dying for me to reveal that one. Thank you so much! Your reviews mean so much to me, and I'm very grateful for those words of encouragement and praise!**

Chapter 20: The Interview

I won. I won the Disney Games. I did it. I was going home to my family.

But I was a changed person. I had killed an innocent boy, and the guilt would possess me forever. I'd never be able to forgive myself for killing him so brutally, even if it hadn't been entirely me. I let Disney poison my mind and control me, all for his sick and twisted game. I was weak enough for him to be able to convince me to do the unthinkable just by muttering a few false statements in my ear. The Disney Games were nothing more than a video game to him, manipulating his avatars to do whatever he pleased, which in this case was violently murder each other.

Just a minute after the bugle call, a helicopter entered the arena and let down a ladder for me to climb. I was starting to feel woozy from blood loss due to my head wound, so I ascended the ladder as quickly as possible without passing out, and instantly collapsed from exhaustion on the floor of the helicopter.

~0~

When I awoke, I had no idea how much time had passed since the Games had ended, but I found myself back in the bed in my room from training week. I reached for the wound on my forehead, only to find that it had been neatly stitched up, and was well on its way to healing. I must have been out of it for at least a few days for it to be that much improved. After getting over the initial tiredness of waking up after days of straight sleep, I began to wonder when I would finally be sent home. I so desperately needed to get home to my family, but Disney was still keeping me from doing so. They were one of few things that had kept me going through the Games, and now that I was a victor, I should be entitled to return to them whenever I pleased. Besides, what more could Disney possibly need from me, I'd already performed as his little murdering puppet.

With this thought in mind, I crossed the room to the door and peeked into the hallway, scanning it for Disney goons. When I didn't see any people, I tiptoed out and headed straight for the only exit I remembered, which, unfortunately, was the front door. In retrospect, I should have taken my chances with wandering aimlessly until I found a more discreet escape route, because I was recognized and apprehended within ten seconds of entering the main lobby.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?!" one of the Disney goons shouted accusingly.

"Away from here," I retorted.

"Oh no you don't, Disney's not done with you," he growled, grabbing me by the bicep and dragging me along behind him. We walked through what must have been two miles of corridors, dodging a continuous stream of people heading the opposite direction, until we reached a door marked, 'Studio.' He opened the door and unceremoniously threw me inside, slamming the door afterwards. Angry and frustrated, I jiggled the doorknob to reopen the door, only to find it locked.

"Well, if it isn't our victor! Congratulations and welcome to Disney Headquarters Studios!" a voice said from across the room. Dreading what I would find, I slowly turned on my heel to face the source of the voice. Just as I had expected, there was Emperor Disney himself, wearing a malicious grin on his face. He was wearing a fine suit with golden cuff-links and a silk tie, attire that had probably cost more than all the clothes my entire family had ever owned in our lives.

"What's the occasion?" I snarled at him. "You needn't dress yourself up so much just to meet with me."

"Oh, this suit isn't for you. It's for the viewing pleasure of the entire empire," he explained, gesturing to the television set behind him. It was a simple circular platform, with two identical chairs being arranged to the perfect angle by two Disney goons. "And we need to find you something to match, because I'm sure you'd hate to be on national television wearing that old thing."

I glanced down to see that I was still wearing my suit from the arena, bloodstains, rips, and all. They'd bothered to doctor my wounds, but apparently they had neglected to change me out of this ratty old outfit.

"Don't worry, you have your own wardrobe team, and they'll fix you right up, just over there," he assured, pointing to a door behind him with a plaque that read, 'Victor.' Reluctantly, I trudged over to the door, making sure to keep my glare fixed on Disney, and entered the room. Inside, it was nothing but a twenty-square-foot dressing room with a full-length mirror on one wall, and a hook on the other with a stunning black dress on it. I stared at it in awe, I'd never seen something so beautiful in my entire life. I excitedly threw on the dress, relieved to finally be out of those dirty clothes I'd been wearing for two weeks straight. When I had managed to get the zipper all the way up in the back, I turned to face the mirror, holding my breath in anticipation.

What I saw exceeded all expectations tenfold. Everything about it was perfect; from the color, to the fit, to the accent of the belt of sequins around my waist. Somehow, they designers had managed to make it look like I wasn't dangerously emaciated after two weeks of near-starvation, which was undoubtedly because Disney wanted to highlight the magnificence of winning the Games, and not the suffering and hardship.

On the floor of the room, I found a matching pair of black flats, which fit perfectly and were just as comfortable as any pair of well-broken-in sneakers. Once the initial shock and joy at being beautiful had passed, I wondered what the reason behind it could possibly be. The fact that we were in a TV studio pretty much gave away that we were broadcasting something to the entire empire, but what exactly it would be, I had no idea.

Curious as to what would happen next, I stepped back into the main studio room, where I was whisked away by a group of women and forced to sit in a tall chair. They all rushed around, fixing my hair and applying enough makeup to supply a circus clown for a month. But once they were finished, I somehow still looked like the same person, just a glorified version. This was the light in which Disney wanted me presented: I was just a regular person throughout the Games, but now that I'd won, I glowed with confidence and radiated poise.

"Hurry, hurry girls," Disney called. "We go live in five minutes."

Yet again, I was ushered across the room to one of the chairs on the set, and instructed to take a seat. Soon afterward, Disney sat down in the other chair, and gave me a quick summary of what was about to happen. This what what he called the post-Games interview: first, he would address the audience and we would watch a recap of the highlights of the Games, which I was simply to view and react to naturally. Then, he would interview me; ask questions about how I felt during certain moments, or what was going through my head, and stuff like that. And finally, to wrap up the show, he would announce the results of the betting, revealing which other sector would be exempt from next year's Games.

I shivered at the thought of next year's Games. Even though I knew everyone in my family was safe because I had won, just the notion of something this horrible happening ever again, to anybody, was too terrible to think of.

"We're live in five, four, three, two, one," the goon monitoring the camera announced, counting down on his fingers. Once he got to one, Disney began the show.

"Greetings people of the empire! I am sitting here with the victor of the first annual Disney Games!" he said excitedly, gesturing to me. I gave a small wave to the camera accompanied with a smile to please Disney. "Even though I know you've all been loyally watching the Games as they progress at home, we're going to start off the show with a movie that my team has put together highlighting key moments throughout the event."

At this, he keyed one of the goons to start the film, and I turned to watch the screen at the back of the studio. The film began with Disney's logo, with "First Annual Disney Games," written beneath it. The screen flashed with, "Day 1," and then proceeded to show the opening rush for the pile of resources. I watched as the dog sprinted ahead of everyone, and I along with several other people ran, grabbed backpacks, and fled. A few seconds later, the people who had forgotten their sector numbers were released, and I winced as they showed a close up of KC's murder of the boy from Sector 10. As the bugle call sounded, he was identified along the bottom of the screen: Joey Rooney, Sector 10: Liv & Maddie.

Day 2: A quick run-through of people setting up shelters and finding water, then complete coverage of my teaming up with Davenport. Seeing him again brought tears to my eyes, and Disney made a show of looking at me sympathetically. After that, the camera switched to a bird's eye view of KC hunting down and killing the brown-haired girl wit glasses: Delia del Fano, Sector 4: I Didn't Do It. After stealing all of her useful items, KC left Delia and ran into me, and Davenport attacked her.

Day 3: Ferb stealing from Davenport's trap and accidentally killing the Latina girl: Trish de la Rosa, Sector 8: Austin & Ally. Stan chasing Ferb until he ran into us, everyone fleeing up the tree. The boy rushed at the dog, and the movie showed detailed coverage of the boy being ripped to shreds. Luke Ross: Sector 1: JESSIE.

Day 4: There wasn't much action to show on this day, but the filmmakers decided on a recap of everyone's position and my alliance group discussing the dam.

Day 5: Davenport and I worked on the dam, and then dug the hog hole trap.

Day 6: The reactions of everyone upstream who were now without a water source, and Davenport and I setting up the fake camp traps.

Day 7: Ferb returning to the group, and us three playing that ridiculous board game we made up. Watching us having fun together made my heart ache for Ferb and Davenport more painfully than ever. Showing of KC's final moments, and Davenport's reaction to receiving the badge.

Day 8: The scrawny boy finding the fake camp and eating the berries without second thought. His death was extremely unpleasant to watch, as the poison caused his throat to swell and he asphyxiated to death. Milton Krupnick, Sector 5: Kickin' It

Day 9: The river flooding, the death of Ferb Fletcher, Sector 2: Phineas & Ferb, and Stan James, Sector 3: Dog with a Blog. I watched as Davenport and I struggled to outrun the flow of water, and the dramatic ending up on the mountain ledge. But they also showed parts of the Games I'd never seen before, like the boy I'd killed in the final battle teaming up with the blonde girl after the flood and setting up the camp Davenport and I had found.

Day 10: Nothing entertaining really happened on this day, but they decided to show the discovery of the dog's body, some of our trek up the mountain, and the blonde boy and girl's discussions of the Games. They had planned to go on the hunt for people weak from dehydration and starvation coming over the mountainside.

Day 11: Davenport and I continued trekking, but the audience had probably been extremely bored of all that by now, so the filmmakers focused on the others' attack plan. At this point, the girl seemed anxiously opposed to the plan for whatever reason, and while the boy was off foraging for food, she grabbed a handful of poisonous berries and ate them in one gulp. Lexi Reed, Sector 7: A.N.T. Farm. The cameras returned to me and Davenport seeing the other side of the mountain for the first time, then the lights went out. They used a night vision camera to film some of the sweet, fluffy family stuff that happened on the mountaintop between the two of us. Witnessing that moment after knowing Davenport's fate made me want to burst out crying, but I was on live television, and I wanted to be strong for my family watching back home.

Day 12: Davenport and I found the abandoned camp, and then the Mickey Mutts attacked. The cameras followed us through that ordeal, and then zoomed in for a close up of Davenport and my final moment together. I couldn't decide whether or not this was a good thing, but they ignored my breakdown and instead played footage of Davenport last seconds alive. I was glad I didn't look like a blubbering fool in front of everyone, but I hadn't wanted to watch him die the first time, and it was no less painful a second time. Donald Davenport, Sector 11: Lab Rats.

Day 13: A second-for-second view of the final battle between me and the other boy. Without the voice playing in me head, I could see that I looked like a vicious demon attacking him. And that's what I looked like to every person in all of the empire. Finally, I struck the killing blow and the bugle call sounded. PJ Duncan, Sector 6: Good Luck Charlie.

Thirteen days. The Games had lasted for exactly thirteen days. Ironic, considering thirteen's history as an unlucky number. I wondered if Disney had ensured that it took only that long on purpose. It seemed like just the cruel joke he would play.

The film ended, and it took all my strength not to start bawling right then and there. Sure, I was the winner, but in the eyes of the people, I was simply the reason that their loved ones would never come home.

"So, going into the Games, did you have any hope that you would win?" Disney asked politely. However much I loathed him, I couldn't deny that he was a fantastic actor. He sounded genuinely concerned for my well-being. I didn't particularly want to answer to him, but I knew there'd be dreadful consequences if I didn't, so I formulated a response that didn't sound too much like a cry for justice and rebellion against a tyrant.

"No, I honestly didn't think I stood a chance. Twelve people and only one can live, I was certain that I would die in horrible circumstances like that."

"Well, it was definitely no simple feat. How do you feel now that you've won?"

I saw this as an opportunity to reassure the public that I was not just a ruthless killer, and I was not glad that I had killed anyone. If I played this right, not only could I save my own reputation, but I could plant the seeds of a revolution that may someday overthrow Disney. Knowing this, I proceeded with extreme caution and answered, "I guess I'm just lucky to be alive, but I feel awful for all the things I've done. The guilt from being responsible for the death of others weighs heavy on my shoulders, and probably will continue to do so for as long as I live. I just want to say to all the people out there that I'm truly sorry for your loss, and wish that as victor I could cancel next year's Games to end all the suffering." I could tell from the look in Disney's eyes that I'd overstepped a boundary, and I waited expectantly to see how he would play it.

"Yes, such tragedy," he said through slightly gritted teeth. "Unfortunately, sacrifice is necessary to ensure the security of the empire. Anyway, moving on, I'm sure everyone at home is dying to know more about the relationship between you and Davenport. Can you tell us about it?"

"Well, he became pretty much like a second father to me. We looked out for each other, and did our best to keep each other alive," I said sadly, knowing that obviously, my best had not been good enough.

"I'm so sorry your friendship had to meet such an end," he said so convincingly that I almost believed that he was sorry. "What went through your mind when you knew you were on your own for the final battle?"

"I was overcome with sadness, but the thing that fueled me through that fight, and you know this more than anybody, was avenging him," I said, making sure to hint that I was well aware of the mind control he'd used. Clearly he'd understood the message, because I could tell through his facade that he desperately wanted to pull out a gun and kill me on the spot.

"Well, I'm afraid we're running out of time, is there any last thought you'd like to share?"

"No, Disney, you've touched on pretty much everything of importance. But I'd just like to let it be known that if I could go back and change the Games, I'd ensure that someone else won so that I wouldn't have to live with the guilt of their lost lives."

"Wonderfully selfless of you. Now, to finish things off, I must announce the winner of the wagers," he said as a Disney goon handed him an envelope. He made a big show of opening it up and acting pleasantly surprised when he read the name of the sector. "Sector 3: Dog with a Blog has most accurately predicted the rankings and will therefore be exempt from next year's Games along with our victor's home of Sector 12! Congratulations! That's all we have for today, folks, good bye!" And with that, the goons turned us off the air. I was promptly ushered out of the studio and back to my room, without a single acknowledgement from anybody. I knew I had made Disney angry, but I hoped that didn't mean he would punish me or my family.

The thought of Disney torturing anybody I knew from back home strengthened my desire to return to them. Now that this whole interview business was over, I should be sent home pretty soon. There were only so many excuses Disney could dream up for keeping me here.

But I knew that, even when I did return home, life would never be the same. We were exempt from the Disney Games next year, but what about the year after that? I couldn't bear to see any of my family endure the same torture as I had in the past two weeks. But if things didn't change soon, that's exactly what I'd be doing.

 **Sorry if that chapter was a bit long, but I wanted some way to fit the summary of the deaths that you've all been asking for into the story. Anyway, what did you guys think? Yea or nay? Until next chapter, please read and review!**


	22. Home at Last

**Susz: I'm glad you liked it! Thanks! Don't worry, I watch waaayyy too much Disney channel for my age, it's probably unhealthy. Eh, whatever. I just heard about the Lab Rats finale, and it is really upsetting. But the Bionic Island bit of that show was getting a little too cheesy and melodramatic for my taste, so I don't think the ending is coming too soon.**

 **Rainbow Meow 11: The narrator will be announced this chapter! Process of elimination tells you it has to be from Girl Meets World, but still... I like a nice dramatic reveal.**

 **daphrose: Yep, process of elimination tells us that! But there's still fun in a dramatic reveal, right? Yeah, I really tried to get at the emotions she'd be feeling at being forced to watch such horrors. I'm glad you're going to miss the story, that means I've been doing something right XD!**

 **Dirtkid123: Yep, our narrator's stepping on Disney's toes a bit.**

 **EmeraldTulip: I did? Well... sorry about that. I'm glad you found that chapter helpful, I kind of needed to write it to keep things straight myself. Thanks, I'm so happy you're enjoying the story!**

 **Guest: Aww, that's so sweet! Thank you!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: I promise, the narrator is announced this chapter. You're welcome for the death roster! I kind of needed to write it to keep things straight myself. As for a sequel... well, it would be kind of tricky. I'm beginning to be really busy with school and a couple other projects, and I don't really have any ideas, so a sequel, if it comes at all, won't be posted for quite a while. Sorry about that. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **PicklePie: I'm glad you liked the long chapter. Personally, I like long chapters too. Especially if it's for a really good story. Thank you so much! As for the narrator, it'll be announced this chapter.**

 **Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews! I think this will be my first story to ever reach 100! Seriously, you guys have no idea how much I appreciate your support. Enough prattle from me, let's get to what you came here for.**

Chapter 21: Home at Last

"Get up already, you've got places to be," the Disney goon shouted impatiently through the door of my room. I groaned, lifting my head off the pillow just enough to see that it was already nine o'clock in the morning. It was the second day I'd been conscious since winning the Games, but I was still lethargic and weak from the events that had occurred over the past two weeks. Yawning loudly, I rose from the bed and changed into yet another copy of the same outfit I'd worn since arriving here for training. I was getting sick of the black-on-black spy look, and wished that Disney had hired more fashionably-aware designers.

But hopefully, if things went as I hoped, I would go home today, and see my family again! The very thought of it made me ache with a yearning to be reunited with them, and I quickly brushed my teeth and hurried outside the door. The Disney goon stood at attention when I entered the hallway, and he signaled for me to follow him. We traipsed through the corridors yet again, people parting in our path as they saw whatever badge identified the goon as their superior. I didn't recognize the path we took, but we ended up in the same train station that I had used to enter headquarters for the first time nearly three weeks ago.

"Listen up, and listen real good," the goon said to me, the exact same wording the other goon had used when I left the town square after the reaping. "You're returning home, but do not think for a second that means life is returning to normal. For the rest of your life, you'll be a victor of the Disney Games. There's been a vote in Disney's council, and we've chosen five years as your grace period. That means, after five more Games of exemption, your name will go right back into the reaping just like everybody else from your sector, and yes, that includes the one year of sector-exemption. You hear?"

"Yes sir," I replied solemnly. Five years. I had five years to not worry about being chosen for the Games, but then it would start all over again. There was no way I could pull this off a second time. As I boarded the train that would take me back home, I realized that there was no way any of this would happen a second time. If I got chosen again, there would be no Davenport to save me. But that was the relentless cycle of the Disney Games. Next year, ten more would be chosen, one of them from Davenport's sector. Adam, Bree, Chase, Leo, or maybe one of their close friends or family members would be chosen to enter the Games next year. People would just keep getting killed until there was nobody left except those ruthless and powerful enough to kill the remainder of the field over and over again.

Disney was aiming to wipe out everyone but the strongest of the strong, those willing to slit throats to ensure they lived to see tomorrow. Decades of Disney Games would leave the population decimated, only cold-blooded killers left to populate the sectors.

Forcing myself to stop thinking about such a dystopian future, my mind wandered to Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo, and how I promised myself I would find them. I wondered if being a victor granted me any diplomatic rights to visit other sectors, but I dismissed the idea almost instantly. If I was allowed to visit other sectors, I'd simply be churning up the rebellion that Disney tried so hard to prevent. A rebellion is just what this empire needed, someone to light the spark that ignited the fire to burn Disney to the ground. Because, if nothing changed soon, we were all doomed to a painful demise.

As the train left Disney Headquarters station, I looked longingly out the window. How much I wished I hadn't given in to the voice and killed PJ. I wished that I'd been more careful and smart and Davenport hadn't died. I wished that I'd never been chosen for the Games. I wished that Disney hadn't taken over and established the Games in the first place. But unfortunately, all these things were real, and I had the physical and emotional scars to prove it.

I stared mindlessly at the passing landscape, something which my old self would have found absolutely beautiful, but which I now regarded with scorn. How dare the trees and flowers look so pretty when the atmosphere was so lurid? It was like they were mocking me, teasing me with a peace and tranquility that I would never have.

"Five minutes until we reach our destination," the goon announced vapidly. My excitement grew, but so did my sense of foreboding. My father had instilled many scruples in me, would he be angry that I had killed people? Would he understand that I only did it to ensure I'd get home to him again? What about the rest of my family? What if everyone shunned me as a dangerous murderer? I couldn't imagine a life without my family. I'd been apart from them for nearly three weeks, and that was already more than my little heart could take. I felt like I was about to burst with anticipation and fear.

I unsuccessfully attempted to swallow my nerves as the train pulled into the Sector 12 station. I could see out the window that a large crowd had gathered to welcome me home, but there were so many people, I couldn't make out anybody I recognized. Once the train came to a complete stop, the goon grabbed me by the arm and led me back through the station to the town square. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia at seeing my home again, since I'd left it so long ago believing I'd never see it again. I could hear nervous whispering from the crowd as I was led into the wings of the stage that had been set up. I started to walk onto the stage, only to be abruptly yanked backwards by the Disney goon.

"Not so fast, we've brought an extra special guest to introduce you," he said tauntingly.

 _Are you kidding me? You've brought me all the way home, I'm literally a couple yards away from being reunited with my family, and you're making me wait longer? Haven't I suffered enough?_

It was like having a delicious-looking cake placed in front of you, with the wondrous smells wafting past your nose, but not being allowed to taste it.

"Who's this extra special guest?" I questioned angrily, wondering who on Earth could be important enough to delay my reunion with my family any longer.

"I think you'll recognize him," the goon said slyly. I turned to look at the stage, to see none other than Disney himself walking on, looking as spiffing as he had the night of the interview. He must have ridden in another car of the same train from headquarters to here.

"Welcome citizens of Sector 12! I know you're all very excited to be hosting the victor of the first annual Disney Games, and I must say, so am I! I don't think anybody expected such an underdog victory, but you all must be very proud," Disney announced, a little too joyously. At this point, the elation at my victory had subsided, and most people were just itching to return to their regular lives. "I won't keep you waiting for the reunion you've desired for so long, so without further ado, allow me to present your victor!"

With an unnecessary shove from the Disney goon, I walked onto the stage, smiling nervously. My family was likely to be right up front, being the sector leaders, and I quickly singled them out from the sea of people. The mix of emotions I felt at seeing their faces again almost made me collapse right there in front of everyone, but I managed to steady myself just in time.

I looked into my dad's eyes, and there was simply nothing I could do to stop myself from doing what I did next. "Dad!" I screamed, running to the front of the stage and, without hesitation, leaping off into his arms. I embraced him in the tightest hug I'd ever given in my life, relief at finally being safe in his grasp overwhelming me. "I missed you so much, you have no idea."

"No, I have the perfect idea, because I missed you just as much. I thought you were going to die out there."

"Dad, y-you're not mad at me, are you?" I stuttered through the tears of joy.

"No, honey, how could I ever be mad at you at a time like this?"

"B-because I killed other people to be where I am now."

"I know you better than you know yourself. That was not you who killed those other people. That was some twisted mind-puppet that Disney created for his own evil purposes. My Riley would never do such a thing," he said. Hearing my name from his lips prompted another round of tears, and I buried my face in his shirt. The crowd collectively sighed, and a few tears were shed at this demonstration of love.

"Dad, the thought of you is what kept me going. All through those Games, whenever I wanted to give up, I thought of you, and I continued the fight. If I could return to you, my purpose would be fulfilled."

"You heard that guys, Riley doesn't need us here. Let's ship out," Maya said.

"Maya, that's ridiculous. I thought of all of you all the time," I assured honestly. It was true, while Dad was at the forefront, Maya, Lucas, Farkle, Auggie, and Mom were always in my head encouraging me to keep going. They were all a part of my family. "You guys are all my family, I wouldn't have been able to do any of it without you."

The most bone-crushing, love-filled group hug since the invention of the hug then ensued. I was so elated to finally be back home, I let myself get lost in the tangle of arms all around me, a broad smile plastered across my face. After all this time, I was finally back with the people I loved, and who loved me.

"Now, doesn't that just bring tears to your eyes," Disney said from on stage. "A happy ending like no other."

I glanced up at him with burning hatred. How could he pretend to be so invested in my happiness? He was probably restraining himself from vomiting with disgust right now. Nobody who's witnessed the atrocities that had occurred during the recent Games would ever believe that the man behind them would actually be pleased to see the victor happy again.

"I hope you all enjoy the coming year until the next Games, but remember, because Miss Matthews has won, she's brought a one-year immunity to this sector. There is no chance that any of you will be participating in the second annual Disney Games! But no worries, you'll be back in action for the third Games! Until then, life as usual! Goodbye everyone!" he said grandly, giving an over-dramatic wave as he exited the stage. The entire crowd finally exhaled after his departure, relieved that their oppressor was no longer present.

"So, what do we do now?" I wondered aloud.

"We can go home and celebrate your victory," Topanga suggested.

"Actually, I have a better idea," I proposed, gesturing for my family to gather around and listen. Sure, it was an achievement to win the Games, but there were more meaningful things. Things which I intended to address in a big, big way.

 **So, you guys finally learned who the narrator is. Feelings about that? Reactions? How many of you guessed correctly? Congratulations if you did, I know I would never be able to figure it out were I in your shoes. I apologize if anybody is disappointed that the narrator turned out to be Riley from Girl Meets World, but this doesn't change anything. You can still enjoy the story without loving GMW. If you're reading this chapter, it means you probably have enjoyed the story enough to read all the way to chapter 21, and I hope you'll continue to read. As much as I hate to say it, next chapter is the last one. Until then, please read and review!**


	23. In Memoriam

**I can't believe it's finally here. The last chapter of the Disney Games. I know you're all sad about it being over, but just remember to be happy that it happened. But first, of course, review replies:**

 **Susz: Wow, I haven't watched Wizards of Waverly Place in ages. I guess Alex was a possibility for the narrator, but I don't remember her ever having a really close relationship with her dad. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reviewing!  
**

 **TheImpalaLover: Nice job guessing then! Although, in the show, Maya seems to not like her dad very much.**

 **EmeraldTulip: Aww, thanks. Writing Maya's character was difficult for me, but I'm glad you think it was spot on! But seriously, thank you so much for reviewing, you have no idea how much it means to me!**

 **Dirtkid123: The circumstances kinda took away her innocence. By choosing her as the narrator, I was trying to demonstrate how oppression can damage even the purest souls.**

 **TheUnknownBlock: I'm sorry you were disappointed with the narrator. I chose her for a reason, though, I was trying to show how the horrors of living under someone as terrible as Disney could ruin even the purest souls. Thanks for your suggestions, I'll think about that if I end up writing a sequel.**

 **Guest: Good job! I'm sure I would never have guessed the narrator were I reading this story. Thank you so much, you really don't know how much these reviews mean to me!**

 **MrMuddyPaws: I'm glad to hear that you'll be sad when this is over, it means I've provided you with a pleasurable experience. As an author, that's all I really want in the world. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **Without further delay, I present to you all, the final chapter of the Disney Games! Enjoy!**

Chapter 22: In Memoriam

As much as I wanted to celebrate finally being safe at home with my family, there were more valuable things that could be done with that time. I had an idea that could potentially get us into a lot of trouble, but could also be the uniting moment that this empire needed in the face of oppression. As we started home, I began formulating the plan in my head. It would take a lot of coordinated effort, but if the people in other sectors were willing to cooperate, it would be glorious.

"Riley, what are you up to?" Maya asked suspiciously. "I've seen that look before, and it usually means you're thinking of doing something big."

"You're right, I am thinking of doing something, but this is much bigger than any scheme we've put together before. This one spans across an empire."

"Whatever it is, I'll be there as your co-schemer."

"Thanks, but I'll need a lot more help than just you for this one."

"Riley, what's this better idea you've come up with?" my dad asked. "You're making me nervous by not telling us."

"I'm afraid that the other sectors will hold a grudge against us because I won the Games. We need to show them, and show Disney, that we're truly sorry for the death and sorrow we've indirectly caused in other families. I want us to hold an empire-wide memorial to all the fallen competitors. Our first step is to spread the word, which will require writing letters. Are you guys all willing to help me?" I asked, receiving many an enthusiastic nod from everyone.

"Anything you need," Farkle said.

"Great. First, we need to figure out what to say in these letters, and how we're going to get them to every sector in the empire. I was thinking something along the lines of giving someone at the border with Sector 11 all of the letters and telling him to spread them to as many other sectors as he can, and so forth throughout the empire. Hopefully, we'll find a willing mail carrier."

As we arrived back at my apartment, we immediately set to work writing the letters to send to the other sectors. Disney ensured that no digital communication existed between sectors, because that's an easy way for the fires of rebellion to catch, so we would be forced to spread the word the old-school way. It took me a while to figure out how to begin a letter like this, but after a short while, the words came to me.

 _Dear family and friends of a fallen tribute,_

 _We feel very fortunate to be the home of the victor of this year's Disney Games, but this feeling comes with much grief. We are terribly sorry for the loss of a member of your family and would be glad if you would join us in a universal memorial service honoring all those who lost their lives at the hands of Disney's tyranny. This doesn't require leaving your sector, all we ask is that you gather the people in the town square, possibly have one of your leaders say a few words, and, at 2:00 sharp, join us in a moment of silence for all who lost their lives in so tragic a fashion. Thank you for your consideration,_

 _Sector 12, Girl Meets World_

Once I was convinced the letter was enough to convince the other sectors, I showed it to all the others and we began making ten more copies. Once we had finished that, the problem of getting them over the border into Sector 11 arose. None of us had ever visited the sector border, but we were pretty sure it was heavily guarded by Disney goons, and, as rumor had it, traps. Despite this, we just grabbed the stack of letters and headed out towards the border. We hoped all the goons were on vacation to celebrate the Disney Games and weren't monitoring the border, but that soon proved too good to be true. Not only was the electric fence twelve feet tall, a goon armed with a gun was posted every twenty feet along the border.

"What are we going to do? There's no way we can sneak past that!" my dad questioned, his tone revealing the beginnings of panic.

"Well, if we can't get over the border to tell them what to do with the letters, we have to write it on them," I said, grabbing a pen and scribbling a note on the envelopes. _Please use whatever means necessary to give these other letters to the next sector._ "As for getting this batch over that fence, I have no idea."

"Someone needs to distract some of those goons," Lucas insisted. "There's no way we're going to make any progress with them standing there so close together."

"Way ahead of you," Auggie said, preparing to throw a small ball he'd been carrying in the direction of the goons.

"Auggie, are you crazy? They'll see what direction the ball came from and head straight for us!" Dad said.

"Then I'll go throw it from over there," he said, heading over to a spot thirty feet away.

"Auggie, you'll get yourself caught," I said, holding him back, "Let one of the older kids do it, I don't want you to get hurt."

"No Riley, I want to do this. If you can survive the whole Disney Games, then I want to prove that I can be strong too," he said.

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly. "But promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," he replied, giving me a quick hug before darting away. The rest of us watched patiently for Auggie to make a move, and my legs began to stiffen from crouching in the bushes for so long. but eventually, the small red ball came flying out from the trees, hitting one of the goons right on the head. It took all my willpower not to burst out laughing as he tottered for a few seconds, and then called a few other goons with him to go investigate. We jumped at our chance, heading to the now empty stretch of fence.

"How do we get them over? They're not heavy enough to throw over the fence," Farkle pointed out.

"Then we'll make them heavy enough," Lucas suggested, adding a small rock to one of the envelopes and easily launching it over the fence.

"Great idea!" I exclaimed quietly, and followed suit. Before any of the Disney goons suspected they had been tricked, we had thrown all the letters over the fence and ran off to safety.

"What if nobody on the other side finds the letters?" Maya asked concernedly.

"Somebody will, I can feel it. Sector 11 is Davenport's sector, I have this gut feeling that sending those letters was the right thing to do, and that it will work out," I explained. I didn't know exactly how to elaborate any more, I just knew that this plan would work out somehow. Maybe Davenport's spirit would guide someone from his sector to the letters or something like that.

"What do we do now?" Mom asked.

"Some of us need to go and find Auggie, make sure he's okay. The rest of us need to gather up all the people in the town square for the ceremony," I instructed. "Mom, Lucas, you guys go look for Auggie. Farkle, Maya, Dad, we'll gather up people. Is everybody clear?"

"Yes," the group assented. We split up, half of us heading back towards the fence to search for Auggie, the rest of us heading into the heart of town. Maya, Farkle, and I traveled to every corner of the sector, telling everyone in sight to gather at the town square for urgent business. In practically no time at all, we'd visited every house and shop in the whole sector, and by the looks of the town square, we'd gotten everybody. The crowd was so dense, it was difficult to make out one person from another. We made our way to the stage, the same one where Disney had stood to announce my return. But this ceremony would be different, no person would be afraid of the speaker.

I'd worked out what I was going to say at the memorial service, but I was still nervous as I stood behind the podium. Nobody had suggested anybody else lead the ceremony, everyone thought it perfectly appropriate that I should be the center of attention. As I looked out over the sea of people, a weight was lifted when I picked out Auggie standing next to my mom, looking no worse for wear. Thank goodness, he must have gotten away from the angry Disney goons.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I announced, my nerves beginning to act up. "We have gathered you all here for the second time today for a very important cause." I had never been very good at writing speeches, so I hadn't set anything in stone. But the words just seemed to flow out of me that day, like I had a memorial speech hidden inside me for years just waiting to be spoken. "As you all know, I have won the Disney Games by some miracle, which excuses us from next year's competition. This is a momentous achievement, and I'm sure you're all very glad we won't have a competitor to worry about next year. But this came at a huge cost: the lives of eleven other tributes from other sectors in our empire.

"I will be the first to admit that I didn't know many of the others in the Games, and I cannot pretend that their deaths caused me great grief when I was in the arena. but there was a select few who had an incredible impact on my performance in the Games, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that, without the help of these few, I would not be standing here today. The first of these is Ferb Fletcher, from Sector 2. When I first met him, he had drawn an angry dog after me and forced us to hide in a tree for hours on end. He had also apparently just stolen food from one of our traps. But, we let him into our alliance group, and together, we became an unstoppable force. The three of us came up with the most grandiose plan for winning the Games, and I hate to say it was the reason for a few other deaths in that arena. Sadly, Ferb was killed a flood initiated by Disney, and his loss rests heavily on my shoulders. Though I only knew him for a few days, I got to know him as a man of few words, but undoubtedly a genius. To his family out there, I cannot express my gratitude through words, and I know your lives will never be the same. I offer you my emotional support, though we are so far away, I hope my thoughts reach you.

"Now, you all have heard me speak of a 'we' as I told you the story of my interaction with Ferb. The other half of that 'we' is a man so incredible, he gave up his life to help a child he'd only known for a week. I speak of Donald Davenport, my ally for the majority of the Games. In the very beginning, he was doing better than any other tribute in the whole Games, he had food, water, fire, and shelter going within the first day. I, on the other hand, was struggling to get a spark from a few dry sticks. I stumbled upon his camp accidentally, as you all probably know from watching, he graciously took me in. We shared victories and losses throughout the Games, and became as close as a father and daughter could be. He was my friend, my protector, and my confidant through the toughest time of my life. Thinking of him, and how this Earth will never see that egocentric genius again, it brings tears to my eyes. I witnessed many horrors in those two weeks in the arena, but none will haunt me more relentlessly than the death of Donald Davenport.

"He told me once of his children back in Sector 11: Adam, Bree, Chase, and Leo. From knowing him, there is no doubt that they are four of the luckiest children in the empire. I feel fortunate to have parents as great as mine, and I'm sure they felt the same way about their father. He was kind, intelligent, trustworthy, and so much more, I cannot express how much he will be missed. To everyone in Sector 11, and all the other sectors right now, I wish to say how guilty I feel to have survived when your loved ones did not. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, let's hope this apology is a start," I concluded. I glanced at the massive clock, one minute until 2:00. "Everyone, starting at 2:00, I want you to join me for a moment of silence in honor of those who have fallen at the hands of Disney."

As the minute hand touched the twelve, the square fell into a deep silence. I hoped that our letters had reached out to all the other sectors, that this sacred silence was shared throughout the empire. Sure, Disney had lost his humanity through whatever trauma had caused him to become so evil, but the cycle ends there. He could try whatever he wanted to destroy our souls, but it would never work. No amount of Disney Games could do that. He could whip, beat, and kill us all he wanted, but he could never destroy the love and compassion we had right here.

How did I know this? The willingness of everyone in Sector 12 to take time out of their schedules to gather and commiserate over the deaths of people they never even knew proved to me that people would always come together to help each other out. Whether a rebellion against Disney would happen, I didn't know, but what I did know was that memorials like this would continue through centuries of Disney Games. The desire to keep spirits alive was embedded deep in our minds. While Disney's may have been destroyed, he was not powerful enough to ruin ours. If there was one thing I was sure of in life, it was this: the people would never surrender to Disney. They might resign in the face of his terror, just to block out the pain, but they'd never surrender. To surrender would be to stoop to his level. The rest of us could never stoop that low because we still had our humanity, and nothing could take that away from us. Humanity was immortal.

 **Well, that's the end of it. I hope you all enjoyed the Disney Games! As for a sequel, I'm really sorry, but I don't have any ideas for a plot sequel right now, and I'm going to be really busy with another project, so I don't know if it will ever happen. If it does, it won't be for a long while. Sorry. I'd love to hear what you thought of the ending to this story, though, reviews are always welcome! Bye!**

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 **Thank you all so much for taking the time to follow/favorite this story! Knowing that my story brings joy to people is all I could ever ask for, and I am so grateful to all of you who've stuck with it. Thanks also to guest reviewers, your input is wonderful and much appreciated, and to the silent readers out there! I know it sounds redundant, but there isn't enough space in the world to write thank you enough times to express my gratitude, so I'll say it one last time: THANK YOU!**


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